Novelized Versions of SPN Episodes
by kbaycolt
Summary: A collection of random episodes chosen to be novelized. The scheduled episodes are shown inside.
1. Planned Episodes

Novelized versions of Supernatural Episodes. The episodes planned are featured below:

Season 1

\- Ep. 22 (Devil's Trap) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 2

\- Ep. 21 (All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 1) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 3

\- Ep. 1 (The Magnificent Seven) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 4

\- Ep. 1 (Lazarus Rising) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 5

\- Ep. 4 (The End) / WRITTEN

\- Ep. 19 (Hammer of the Gods) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 6

\- Ep. 20 (The Man Who Would Be King) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 7

\- Ep. 15 (Repo Man) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 8

\- Ep. 23 (Sacrifice) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 9

\- Ep. 21 (King of the Damned) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 10

\- Ep. 3 (Soul Survivor) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 11

\- Ep. 18 (Hell's Angel) / WRITTEN

\- Ep. 22 (We Happy Few) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 12

\- Ep. 23 (All Along the Watchtower) / WRITTEN

* * *

Season 13

\- Ep. 22 (Exodus)

* * *

Season 14

\- Ep. 8 (Byzantium)

\- Ep. 20 (Moriah)


	2. 1x22 - Devil's Trap

_Brrrring. Brrrring._

Meg flipped open her phone with a smirk. "You boys really screwed up this time."

On the other side of the line, Dean Winchester growled, "Where is he?"

Her voice was triumphant. "You're never gonna see your father again." The receiver clicked and the line fell silent.

Dean lowered his cell. "They've got Dad," he muttered, stepping forward.

"Meg?" Sam questioned, although he already knew the answer. At Dean's nod, he continued, "What did she say?"

"I just told you, Sammy," Dean snapped in frustration. "Okay." He rubbed a hand down his face, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. "Okay." He reached down and picked up the Colt, gleaming under the lamplight. He slipped it into his back pocket.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Sam asked, following the movement with his concerned gaze.

Dean shouldered past his brother and started to pick up their belongings with urgency. "We got to go."

"Why?"

"Because the demon knows we're in Salvation, alright?" Dean slung the backpack over his shoulder. "it knows we got the Colt. It's got Dad, it's probably coming for us next."

"We've still got three bullets left," Sam pointed out. He started to say something else, but Dean interrupted him.

"Listen, tough guy, we're not ready! We don't know how many of them are out there, and we're no good to anybody dead." Dean's tone was firm, final. "We're leaving. Now."

Sam could see the determination in his eyes, and chose not to argue any longer.

They left behind only the track marks of the Impala on the asphalt.

* * *

In the car, Sam tried again. "I'm telling you, Dean, we could've taken him."

"What we need is a plan," Dean said. "Now, they're probably keeping Dad alive, we just need to figure out where. They're gonna want to trade him for the gun."

Sam only shook his head slightly.

With a frown, Dean asked, "What?"

"If that were true, then why didn't Meg mention a trade?" Sam shook his head once more and sighed. "Dad, he might be-"

"Don't," Dean said sharply.

"I don't want to believe it any more than you." Sam sank lower in his seat at Dean's angry stare, which probably should've been on the road. "But if he is, all the more reason to kill this thing. We still have the Colt. We can still finish the job."

"Screw the job, Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

"Dean, I'm just trying to do what he would want. He would want us to keep going."

"Would you quit talking about him like he's dead already?" Dean begged. Maybe if no one talked about it, it wouldn't be true. "Listen to me. Everything stops until we get him back, understand me? Everything."

Sam was quiet for a moment, realizing this wasn't a fight he could win. "So how do we find him?"

"Maybe we go to Lincoln," Dean suggested, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "Start at the warehouse where he was taken."

"What, you really think these demons are gonna leave a trail?"

Dean hesitated, then said, "You're right. We need help."

* * *

You could say that Singer's Salvage Yard was simply a dump, and you would be right. It wasn't very often that a car was actually salvaged, mostly because the person who owned the place didn't have very much time to do so. This was the fault of the owner's occupation; he was, of course, a hunter, and a friend of John Winchester, and he was who the brothers now turned to for help.

In front of the house sat several rusty cars that would never be put to use any time soon. Atop one faded blue junker lay a large black dog chained to a post, who watched them lazily with one eye.

"Here you go," Bobby Singer said, handing Dean a flask. He had a beard and lines on his face, forming a crease that made him look like he was constantly frowning. In the corner of the room, Sam flipped the page of a dusty book.

Dean took it. "What is this? Holy water?"

"That one is," Bobby confirmed. He held up his own flask. "This is whiskey." And with that, he tipped back the container and took a large swig.

Dean pinched his eyebrows together. Then Bobby handed him the whiskey, which he obediently drank. He swallowed. "Bobby, thanks. Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure if we should come."

"Nonsense," Bobby said, shaking his head. "Your Daddy needs help."

"The last time we saw you," Dean pointed out, "You _did_ threaten to blast him full of buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything."

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" Bobby shrugged. "John just has that effect on people."

"Yeah, I guess he does."

"None of that matters now," Bobby said. "All that matters is that you get him back."

Off to the side, Sam leaned back in his chair. "Bobby, this book-" he chuckled disbelievingly, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Key of Solomon? It's the real deal all right." Bobby strode over to him and sat down nearby.

"And these protective circles- They really work?" Sam traced his finger down the runes reverently.

"Hell yeah. You get a demon in one, they're trapped. They're powerless. It's like a satanic roach motel."

Sam grinned.

"The man knows his stuff," Dean said, strolling over.

"I'll tell you something else too. This is some serious crap you boys stepped in."

"Oh yeah? How's that?" Sam inquired.

"Normal year I hear, say, three demonic possessions, maybe four, tops." Bobby's voice was solemn. "This year I heard of 27, so far. You get what I'm saying?" He glanced between the two brothers. "More and more demons are walking among us- A lot more."

"Do you know why?" Sam asked.

"No, but I know it's something big." Bobby pressed his lips together. "The storm's comin', and you boys, your daddy- You are smack in the middle of it."

That's when the dog from outside began to bark loudly, drawing everyone's attention. Bobby pushed himself up.

"Rumsfeld," he muttered, pushing open the blinds, "What is it?"

The hood of the car was missing its occupant, and the chain dangled, severed.

"Something's wrong," Bobby said.

Indeed, something was wrong, for at that very moment, the door busted open and flew off its hinges, and a young girl with close-cropped blonde hair stepped through. Meg scowled at them, and Dean fingered the holy water flask.

"No more crap, okay?" she said, kicking aside a chunk of wood from the door.

Dean started towards her, but with a flick of her wrist, he went flying, slamming into the bookcase.

"I want the Colt, Sam," Meg demanded, as Sam moved in front of Bobby. "The real Colt. Right now."

"We don't have it on us," Sam lied, stepping back as she advanced. "We buried it."

"Didn't I say 'no more crap'?" Meg snarled. "I swear, after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I've got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed. First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads." She shook her head mockingly. "Lackluster, men."

Sam and Bobby's backs hit the wall.

"I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?" Meg cocked her head.

"Actually, we were counting on it."

Meg spun on her heel to see Dean behind her, still holding the holy water. She followed his gaze to the Key of Solomon painted on the ceiling, which she stood in the center of.

"Gotcha."

* * *

Meg, now tied to a chair in the middle of the room, managed to retain her demeaning tone. "You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask."

Sam and Dean stared at her, unimpressed.

Bobby walked up to them, screwing the lid onto the salt. "I salted the doors and windows," he said. "If there are any demons out there, they ain't gettin' in."

Dean nodded. He stood up and stepped into the room. "Where's our father, Meg?"

"You didn't ask very nice," Meg replied coolly.

"Where's our father, bitch?"

"Jeez. You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Meg tilted her head, a cruel smile on her face. "Oh, I forgot. You don't."

"You think this is a freaking game?" Dean snapped, lip curling with rage. "Where is he!? What did you do to him!?"

"He died screaming," Meg said, her eyes alight with twisted humor. "I killed him myself."

Dean punched her in the face.

Her head snapped to the side and she cried out in pain. When she looked back up,her lip was bleeding. "That's kind of a turn-on," Meg murmured, "You hitting a girl."

"You're no girl," Dean growled.

Meg smirked.

"Dean," Bobby interjected, pulling him aside where Meg couldn't hear. "You okay?"

"She's lying," Dean insisted. "He's not dead."

"Dean, you've got to be careful with her," Bobby said sternly. "Don't hurt her."

"Why?"

"Because she really is a girl, that's why."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"She's possessed," Bobby answered. "That's a human possessed by a demon. Can't you tell?"

Dean glanced back at Meg, who was observing the room around her. "Are you trying to tell me there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there?"

Bobby nodded.

A pause. "That's actually good news."

* * *

Sam opened the old book and flipped to a page covered in Latin words.

Meg raised an eyebrow. "Are you gonna read me a story?"

"Something like that," Dean said lowly. "Hit it, Sam."

" _Regna terrae, cantate deo. Psallite domino…_ "

Meg looked incredulous. "An exorcism? Are you serious?"

"We're going for it, baby," Dean confirmed. "Head-spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards."

" _Tribuite virtutem deo_."

Meg closed her eyes and let out a small moan. Breathing heavily, she whipped her head around to glare at Sam the best she could. "I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna rip the bones from your body."

"No," Dean said. "You're gonna burn in Hell, unless you tell us where our Dad is." At Meg's silence, he continued, "Well, at least you'll get a nice tan." He nodded at Sam.

" _Exorcizamus te. Omnis immundus spiritus_."

Meg began to shake, like she was vibrating inside.

" _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…_ "

Meg bowed her head, panting.

" _Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica-_ "

"Ah!" Meg glared darkly at Sam. Her speech was halting, interrupted by grunts of pain. "He begged for his life with tears in his eyes. He begged to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throat."

Sam cautiously started again, " _Ergo…_ "

"For your sake, I hope you're lying," Dean said. "Cause if it's true, I swear to god, I will march into Hell myself and slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me god."

" _Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallacia-_ " Sam paused briefly, as the pages of an open book began to flip rapidly of their own accord. " _-hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge..._ "

Meg choked and spluttered, her arms spasming against her restraints.

Sam spoke ever faster, " _Invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine. Quem inferi tremunt-_ "

"Agh!"

"Where is he?" Dean demanded.

"You just won't take 'dead' for an answer, will you?" Meg's voice was strained, but she managed a small, infuriating grin.

"Where is he?" Dean repeated.

"Dead!"

"No he's not!" Dean lowered himself down to her level. "He's not dead! He can't be!"

Sam cast a concerned look in his direction.

"What are you looking at?" Dean snapped. "Keep reading."

Reluctantly, Sam found the next part and spoke quickly, " _Ab insidiis diaboli libera nos, domine. Ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos_."

At the end of the line, Meg flung her head back with a roar of anguish.

" _Ut inimicos sanctae ecclesiae humiliare digneris-_ "

The chair she was sitting in began to slide jerkily across the ground, producing a horrible screeching sound. Meg was shouting, her head whipping around with the force of her momentum. The chair never moved past the trap lines, which caused her to bang up against the sides.

" _-te rogamus audi-_ "

"He will be!" Meg cried.

Dean flung up a hand, and Sam stopped. "What?"

"He's not dead," she spat. "But he will be after what we'll do to him."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Dean asked.

"You don't."

"Sam-"

"A building!" Meg forced out. "Okay? A building in Jefferson City."

"Missouri? Where? Give us an address."

"I don't know."

"And the demon, the one we're looking for- Where is it?" Sam questioned.

"I don't know, I swear," Meg breathed. "That's everything. That's all I know."

Dean's words were harsh. "Finish it."

"What?" Meg exclaimed. "I told you the truth!"

"I don't care."

"You son of a bitch! You promised."

"I lied." Dean looked up at his brother. "Sam?"

Sam was staring at Meg, almost with a hint of sympathy.

"Sam!" Dean straightened. "Read."

"We can still use her, find out where the demon is," Sam said.

"She doesn't know."

"She lied."

"Sam, there's an innocent girl trapped in there somewhere," Dean said. "We've got to help her."

"You're gonna kill her," Bobby intervened.

"What?"

"You said she fell from a building," Bobby said. He looked over at Meg, who was still breathing heavily from the exorcism. "That girl's body is broken. The only thing keepin' her alive is that demon inside. You exorcise it, the girl's gonna die."

"Listen to me, both of you," Dean said. "We are not gonna leave her like that."

"She is a human being!" Bobby argued.

"And we are going to put her out of her misery!" Dean turned to his brother. "Sam, finish it."

Sam hesitated.

"Finish it."

Sam exhaled. " _Dominicos sanctae ecclesiae. Terogamus audi nos. Terribilus deus..._ "

Meg's head jerked to the side, her whole body trembling. Her eyes flashed to black, the color swallowing up her entire socket.

" _...ipse tribuite virtutem et..._ "

With a burst of supernatural strength, Meg's fingers started to shred the ropes holding her down.

Sam shouted, " _Benedictus deus. Gloria patri!_ "

Meg tipped back her head and screamed, long and shrill. Black smoke funneled out of her mouth and flowed upwards to the ceiling, where it hit the Key of Solomon and dissipated. She slumped over, eyes closed, and blood trickled from her open mouth.

Slowly, wheezing, Meg raised her head. She groaned softly.

"She's still alive," Dean said urgently. "Call 911, get some water and blankets."

Bobby rushed off to grab the items, while Sam and Dean knelt down and untied her wrists.

"Thank you," she whispered. Blood coated her lips and dripped down her chin.

"Shh, shh, just take it easy, alright?" Sam coaxed, his voice gentle.

"C'mon, let's get her down," Dean said.

Together, they reached down to lift her legs. She moaned in pain, and they quietly apologized as they lowered her to the ground.

"I've got you, I've got you," Sam murmured. Meg choked and gasped for air. "It's okay."

"A year," she croaked.

"What?"

"It's been a- a year," she answered, lips turned up in a sad smile.

"Just take it easy," Sam urged.

"I've been- been awake for some of it," Meg whispered. "I couldn't move my- my own body. The things I did-" She took in a shaky breath. "It's a nightmare."

"Was it telling us the truth about our Dad?" Dean asked.

Sam stared at him. "Dean."

"Yes," Meg choked out. "But it wants- wants you to- to know that- that they want you to come for- for him."

"If Dad's still alive, none of that matters," Dean said.

Bobby hurried into the room, clutching a blanket and a glass of water. Dean helped her sit up to drink, while Bobby draped the material over her body.

"Where is the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked softly.

"Not there," Meg said, shaking her head microscopically. "Other ones. Awful ones."

"Where are they keeping our Dad?" Dean asked.

"By the r-river." Meg swallowed thickly. "S-Sunr-rise."

"Sunrise? What does that mean?"

Meg's eyes slid out of focus, her arms falling limp in Sam's hands.

"What does that mean?" Dean repeated.

She didn't move again.

* * *

"You better hurry up and beat it before the paramedics get here."

"What are you going to tell them?" Dean asked.

Bobby gave them a wry smile. "You think you guys invented lying to the cops? I'll figure something out." Then he revealed the old book they got the exorcism from. "Here. Take this. You might need it."

"Thanks," Sam said, gripping the old leather carefully.

"Thanks," Dean added. "For everything. Be careful, alright?"

"Just go find your Dad." Bobby tipped his head in their direction. "And when you do, you bring him around, would you? I won't even try to shoot him this time."

Dean nodded with a small smile.

They opened the door and stepped out, Sam first and then his brother. Bobby watched them go, wondering how they both managed to be so unlike their father.

* * *

Sam leaned against the Impala where they were parked by the river, twirling a pen and scanning the old book. The trunk was open, and Dean was loading a gun. Sam squinted through the bright sunlight and tapped his pen on the brittle pages.

"You've been quiet," Sam noted, turning a page.

Dean pulled out another gun and started to repeat the process. "Just getting ready."

"He's gonna be fine, Dean." Sam turned his attention back to the book, and a symbol caught his eye. A triangle, with a pentagram inside. Frowning, he wiped some dust off the car and started to draw.

"Dude, what are you drawing on my car?" Dean demanded.

"It's called a Devil's Trap," Sam explained. "Demons can't get through it or inside it."

"So?"

"It basically turns the trunk into a lockbox." Sam moved to the other side of the car, studying the page.

"So?" Dean repeated.

"So, we have a place to hide the Colt while we go get Dad."

"What are you talking about? We're bringing the Colt with us."

"We can't, Dean," Sam said. "We've only got three bullets left. We can't just use them on any demon. We've got to use them on _the_ demon."

"No, we we have to save Dad, Sam, okay? We're gonna need all the help we can get."

"Dean, you know how pissed Dad would be if we used all the bullets?" Sam closed the book with a snap. "He wouldn't want us to bring the gun."

"I don't care, Sam!" Dean exclaimed. "I don't care what Dad wants, okay? And since when do you care what Dad wants?"

"We want to kill this demon," Sam said. "You used to want that too. Hell, I mean, you're the one that came and got me at school! You're the one who dragged me back into this, Dean, I'm just trying to finish it."

Dean shook his head slightly, his gaze switching between the ground and Sam. "Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can't wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what?" Dean's voice cracked. "I'm gonna be the one to bury you. "

Sam looked away.

"You're selfish, you know that? You don't care about anything but revenge."

"That's not true, Dean," Sam finally said.

Dean scoffed, his attention now on loading his gun.

"I want Dad back, but they are expecting us to bring this gun." Sam adjusted his hold on the book. "They get the gun, they will kill us all. That Colt is our only leverage, and you know it, Dean."

Dean still refused to look at him.

"We cannot bring that gun. We can't."

"Fine," Dean said stiffly.

"I'm serious, Dean-"

"I said 'fine', Sam," Dean snapped. And to prove it, he pulled the Colt from inside his coat, held it up for Sam to see, and then tossed it inside the trunk. Sam stepped around Dean and shut the trunk.

The pair walked along the riverside, a backpack slung over Dean's shoulder. They turned a corner and Sam pushed aside a tree limb, when Dean said, "Hey, hey." Sam stopped. "I think I know what Meg meant by 'sunrise'."

Sam followed his gaze to the sign in front of a large building, where several people milled about.

Sunrise Apartments.

Dean moved forward to get a better look. "Son of a bitch, that's pretty smart." He turned back to Sam. "If these demons can possess people, they can possess almost anybody inside."

"Yeah. And make anybody attack us."

Dean frowned in the direction of the pedestrians. "And so we can't kill 'em. A building full of human shields."

Sam sighed. "They probably know exactly what we look like too, and they could look like anybody."

"This sucks out loud," Dean muttered unhappily.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Alright, so how the hell are we gonna get in?"

"Pull the fire alarm," Dean suggested. "Get out all the civilians."

"Okay, but then the city responds in, what, seven minutes?"

"Seven minutes, exactly."

* * *

Sam strode up to the front doors and swung them open. He stepped inside. He drifted over to the fire alarm, but quickly turned away as someone walked past him. He waited until the person was gone, before reaching over and pulling the alarm.

Outside, Dean approached a fireman. "Hey, what's happening? Is it a fire?"

"We're figuring that out right now, sir. Just stay back."

"Well, I got a yorkie upstairs, and he pees when he's nervous," Dean stalled.

"Sir, you have to stay back."

Meanwhile, Sam discreetly snuck around the side of the firetrucks, freezing whenever something sounded like footsteps. When he reached the back end, he pulled out a lock pick and opened the door. A few minutes later, the brothers were both garbed in firemen gear with Dean in the lead, carrying an EMF meter.

His voice muffled by the mask, Dean said, "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up."

"You never told me that," said Sam.

Suddenly Dean stopped in front of a room as the EMF meter started to whirr and beep loudly, lighting up red. They exchanged a glance.

Inside the room, a woman's eyes flashed black at the pounding on the door. She stood and approached the doorway, joined by a man.

"This is the fire department. We need you to evacuate."

As soon as she unlocked the door, Dean kicked it inwards, sending her stumbling back. Sam ran into the room with the fire extinguisher in hand. It held holy water instead of pressurized nitrogen, so when he sprayed her with it, her skin steamed and she let out a piercing scream. Dean did the same to the man.

Dean punched the demon in the face, and while it was disoriented, he grabbed him and shoved him into the closet, sending hangers and shirts crashing to the floor. He slammed the door on it.

Sam was close behind, attempting to restrain the thrashing she-demon in his arms. With Dean's help, they forced her into the closet with her partner. Dean held the door closed against the wrath of the demons, while Sam fumbled with the bag.

"Hurry up!" Dean shouted.

Sam finally found the box of salt, and he hurriedly poured a large, thick circle around the front of the door. Once the demons were trapped, the brothers shed their suits and gas masks, dumping the gear on the floor. When they no longer looked like trick-or-treaters, they rushed into the nearest open door.

On the bed lay John Winchester, his arms and legs splayed out. Blood and grime streaked his face.

"Dad," Dean whispered. He moved to John's side and listened carefully. After a moment, he let out a sigh of relief. "He's still breathing." He gripped his father's shoulders and shook him. "Dad, wake up." John remained silent and motionless. "Dad!" Then he whipped out a pocket knife and prepared to cut the ropes, when Sam interrupted him.

"Wait," Sam said.

"What?"

"He could be possessed, for all we know."

Dean glanced down at John's prone form. "What, are you nuts?"

"Dean, we gotta be sure." Sam rifled through their bag and revealed the holy water flask. He unscrewed the top and cautiously splashed it onto John's face. No steaming skin, no thrashing.

Instead, John twitched, and he lifted his head. He strained to see through half-lidded eyes. "Sam?" He exhaled. "Why are you splashing water on me?"

Sam chuckled half-heartedly.

Dean smiled, but turned back to John. "Dad, are you okay?"

"They've been drugging me," John slurred. "Where's the Colt?" Of course. The weapon above his sons.

"Don't worry, Dad," Sam assured him. "It's safe."

"Good boys," John whispered. "Good, boys."

* * *

Outside, a man with black eyes strode through the crowd of onlookers and moved to walk into the building. A fireman went to stop him: "Hey, buddy, you can't go in-" He froze. His jaw went slack and his eyes blackened, and then he turned and followed the other.

* * *

Sam and Dean half-walked half-carried John through the doorway, an arm slung over each shoulder. He stumbled and couldn't keep himself fully upright, so they were actually mostly carrying him.

They had just entered the kitchen when the door flew open and two demons charged inside, advancing towards the trio.

"Go!" Sam urged, spinning around and struggling to keep John from falling. "Go!"

"Back, back!" Dean yelled, dragging his father into the room while Sam slammed the door behind them and locked it. Immediately, like some horror movie, the head of an ax broke through the door, showering Sam with wood chips as he tried to pour a salt line. "Sam! Let's go!" Dean was already outside the window.

Sam tossed him the bag. Right before they bolted, he dumped a thick barrier of salt on the windowsill, ignoring the angry glares he received from the demons.

Dean landed on the sidewalk first; then he helped John down, and finally Sam jumped to the ground beside them and took off. Dean stumbled forward, still holding his father upright, and they were almost to the street when Sam was tackled to the ground.

The demon now straddling him snarled and began punching Sam.

Dean quickly lowered John to the ground. "Sam!" he shouted, racing over to help his brother. He kicked the demon in the face, which would have incapacitated a normal person, but it only angered him. He jerked his chin, and Dean went flying, thrown by an unseen force.

The demon continued to beat on Sam, landing blow after blow until Sam's face was a bloody mess. Before he could do any more damage, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet buried itself in the demon's temple. Black smoke billowed from his face and disintegrated and he slumped over, dead.

Dean lowered the smoking Colt. Stuffing it into his coat, he ran to his brother and helped him up. Sam groaned and swayed on his feet. "Come on," Dean muttered, letting Sam lean against him as they walked over to John. "Come on, we've got to get out of here."

Dean was forced to let go of Sam, who abruptly lurched forward and fell to his knees. He pulled John up, then his brother, and the three of them stumbled back to the car.

* * *

They parked the car in front of an abandoned cabin in the woods to recuperate. Once inside, Sam salted the doorsand windows while Dean turned a few lamps on.

"How is he?" Sam asked.

"He just needed a little rest, that's all," Dean replied. "How are you?"

Sam sucked in a breath. "I'll survive." He turned around to face his brother. "Hey, you don't think we were followed here, do you?"

"I don't know," Dean answered honestly. "I don't think so. We couldn't have found a more out-of-the-way place to hole up."

"Yeah." Sam looked at the ground, then up at Dean. "Hey, uh… Dean, you um… You saved my life back there."

"So I guess you're glad I brought the gun, huh?" Dean smirked.

"Man, I'm trying to thank you here."

"You're welcome."

After a moment of silence, Dean said, "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that guy I shot? There was a person in there." His tone was guilty.

"You didn't have a choice, Dean," Sam tried to comfort him.

"I know. That's not what bothers me."

"Then what does?"

Dean swallowed. "Killing that guy, killing Meg. I didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch. For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just… It scares me sometimes."

As he fell silent, John stepped into the room, his face covered in bruises and caked blood. "It shouldn't." A small smile graced his rough features. "You did good."

"You're not mad?" Dean asked, surprised.

"For what?"

"Using a bullet."

John tilted his head. "Mad? I'm proud of you. You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you- You watch out for this family. You always have."

Dean was looking more confused and suspicious by the second. "Thanks."

The lights started flickering overhead, a cool breeze brushing through the cabin.

John moved towards the window. "It found us. It's here."

"The Demon?" Sam said.

"Sam, lines of salt in front of every window, every door," John ordered.

"Already did it."

"Check it, okay?" John barked.

Sam reluctantly went to check the salt lines.

"Dean, you got the gun?"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Give it to me," said John.

"Sam tried to shoot the Demon in Salvation," Dean protested. "It vanished."

"This is me. I won't miss. Now, the gun. Hurry."

Dean tightened his grip on the Colt. He stared at John, his eyes guarded.

"Son, please."

But Dean took a step back instead.

"Give me the gun," John said sharply. "What are you doing, Dean?"

"You'd be furious," Dean said quietly.

"What?"

"That I wasted a bullet. He wouldn't be proud of me. He'd tear me a new one." Dean aimed the Colt and cocked it. "You're not my Dad."

"Dean, it's me," John tried.

"I know my Dad better than anyone, and you ain't him," Den snarled.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" John demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing. Stay back."

Sam walked back into the room and took in the scene. "Dean? What the hell is going on?"

"Your brother's lost his mind," John answered.

"He's not Dad," Dean said firmly.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I think he's possessed." Dean's voice was shaky. "I think he's been possessed since we rescued him."

"Don't listen to him, Sammy," John said.

"Dean, how do you know?" Sam questioned.

"He's different."

"You know, we don't have time for this." John gazed at Sam. "Sam, if you want to kill this demon, you've got to trust me."

Sam glanced between his brother and his Dad, unsure.

"Sam."

"No," Sam whispered. "No." He moved to stand beside Dean.

John regarded them indifferently, nodding slightly. "Fine. You're both so sure. Go ahead. Kill me."

Dean's eyes watered.

John bowed his head, and when he spoke next, his tone was dark. "I thought so."

Gleaming yellow eyes stared down the barrel of the gun.

Before they had time to react, an invisible force pinned both Sam and Dean to opposing walls. The Colt clattered to the ground. The Demon picked it up.

"What a pain in the ass this thing's been," he said.

"It's you, isn't it?" Sam forced out, still struggling against his unseen bonds. The Demon smirked. "We've been looking for you for a long time."

"Well, you found me."

"But the holy water?" Sam muttered.

"You think something like that works on something like me?" The Demon wore a horrible grin that John Winchester could never pull off.

"I'm gonna kill you," Sam growled.

"Oh, that would be a neat trick," the Demon mocked. "In fact, here." He set the Colt down. "Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy." When it remained motionless, he chuckled. "Well, this is fun. I could've killed you a hundred times today, but this… This is worth the wait." He walked up the window, his gaze never leaving Dean's face. "Your Dad- He's in here with me, trapped inside his own meat suit. He says 'Hi', by the way. He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."

"Let him go, or I swear to god-" Dean started, but the Demon cut him off.

"What? What are you and God gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice." He leveled his stare out the window. "You know that little exorcism of yours?" He stepped forward, until he was mere inches from Dean's face. "That was my daughter."

"Who, Meg?"

"The one in the alley? That was my boy. You understand?" The Demon's swirling yellow eyes held the promise of painful death.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"What? You're the only one that can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" The Demon's lips curled into an ugly smile. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. I did. Still, two wrongs don't make a right."

"You son of a bitch."

"I want to know why," Sam called. "Why did you do it?"

"You mean why did I kill mommy and pretty little Jess?"

"Yeah."

"You know, I never told you this," the Demon said, turning back to Dean. "But Sam was gonna ask her to marry him. Been shopping for rings and everything. You want to know why?" He neared Sam, prowling with the grace and danger of a predator. "Because they got in the way."

"In the way of what?"

"My plans for you, Sammy," the Demon murmured. "You, and all the children like you."

"Listen, you mind just getting this over with, huh?" Dean asked. "Cause I really can't stand the monologuing."

"Funny, but that's all part of your M.O, isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain, mask the truth." The Demon's words were like knives.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You know, you fight and you fight for this family but the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them." The Demon was relishing the anguish in Dean's eyes. "Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."

"I bet you're real proud of your kids too, huh?" Dean chuckled dryly. "Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted 'em."

The Demon was silent for a few moments. He looked down, and when he looked back up, Dean started to scream.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "No!"

Bloody furrows tracked down Dean's chest like a wild animal was mauling him. His head banged against the wall as he writhed in pain, grunting in agony. Through his suffering, he managed to cry, "Dad! Dad, don't you let it kill me!" The pain increased, and he groaned.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He strained to break the Demon's hold.

Red trickled from Dean's lips. "Dad, please." He made a strangled gurgling noise, then his head fell forward limply.

"DEAN!" Sam cried desperately. "NO!"

"Stop," John whispered. His eyes were brown. "Stop it."

The force pinning them to the walls vanished, and Sam immediately ran to the table and snatched up the Colt. He aimed it at the Demon.

"You kill me, you kill daddy," he warned.

"I know," Sam spat. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet struck the Demon in the leg, sending him to the floor. At the same time, Dean slumped over, his shirt stained crimson.

"Dean? Dean, hey-" Sam knelt in front of him. "Oh god, you lost a lot of blood-"

"Where's Dad?" Dean gasped.

"He's right here. He's right here, Dean."

"Go check on him." Sam tried to protest, but Dean repeated, "Go check on him."

Sam obediently walked over to John, still gripping the Colt. "Dad?"

"Sammy!" John cried. "It's still alive. It's inside me. I can feel it. You shoot me. You shoot me! You shoot me in the heart, son! Do it, now!"

Sam cocked the Colt.

"Sam, don't you do it," Dean pleaded. "Don't you do it."

"You've got to hurry!" John begged. "I can't hold on to it much longer. You shoot me, son! Shoot me! Son, I'm begging you! We can end this here and now!"

Sam's hands were shaking.

"Sammy, you kill me!"

"Sam, no."

His aim wavered.

"You do this! Sammy! Sam, Sam." He opened his mouth and screamed. Black smoke funneled out and sank into the floorboards.

* * *

"Look, just hold on, alright? The hospital is only 10 minutes away," Sam said quietly. John wheezed in the passenger seat, while Dean struggled to keep his bodily fluids inside in the backseat.

"I'm surprised at you, Sammy. Why didn't you kill it?" John asked. "I thought we saw eye-to-eye on this. Killing this demon comes first; before me, before everything."

"No sir," Sam said. He caught a glimpse of Dean's blood soaked lips in the mirror. "Not before everything. Look, we've still got the Colt. We still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright? I mean, we already found the demon-"

And that's when the massive truck crashed headfirst into the Impala, shattering the windows and crumpling the metal.

The demon driving the truck smiled to himself.


	3. 2x21 - All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 1

It was late at night when Sam and Dean Winchester pulled up to a small restaurant to grab food.

"Hey, don't forget the extra onions this time, huh?" Dean handed Sam a wad of cash.

"Dude, I'm the one who's gonna have to ride in the car with your extra onions."

Dean smiled innocently at him.

Sam hopped out of the car, and before he closed the door, Dean said, "Hey, see if they got any pie."

Sam scowled.

"Bring me some pie!" Dean called. Once Sam was gone, he turned up the music to ear-bleeding levels.

" _...on a distant highway, yeah! I've got to keep on chasing a dream, I've got to be on my way. Wish-_ "

Suddenly the radio sputtered and turned to static, the lights flashing on and off. Dean frowned. He reached over and tapped the dial, but it continued to flicker. He fiddled with the stations, but each one was still static.

He glanced back up at the cafe to find it empty.

Instantly, he was out of the car and rushing to the door. It swung open with a pleasant jingling noise, and the music inside continued to play, but everyone was dead. Blood pooled around slumped over corpses, dripping onto the tiles.

"Sam?" Dean called. He cocked his gun. Turning the corner, he found the waiters lying in their own blood, throats slit. He pushed open the back door and found no one, not even a stray smoker. "Sam?" Letting the door swing closed, his fingers came away coated in yellow powder. "Sulfur," he whispered. Running back through the front door, he shouted, "Sam! Sammy!" He was steadily growing more panicked by the second. "Sam! SAM!"

* * *

Sam Winchester woke with a gasp. He quickly sat up, taking in his surroundings.

He was sitting on a wooden platform, the remains of a porch. It was muddy, like it had rained recently, and slightly foggy. Old buildings lined an empty road. He scrambled to his feet. He fumbled in his pockets for his phone, which alerted him to the absence of service. Nearby stood a huge watermill that creaked with every rotation. It seemed like he was in a ghost town.

He wandered up to a house and stood beneath the awning, peeking into the windows, but he saw nothing. He jiggled the door handle, but it was locked. A loud creaking noise nearby made him pause. He grabbed a damp piece of wood and jumped around the corner, expecting a monster or something, but instead, a scrawny man in two hoodies flinched violently and cowered before him.

"Andy?"

Andy lowered his arms. "Sam? What are you doing here?"

"I don't know."

"What am I doing here?" Andy looked on the verge of a breakdown.

"I don't know," Sam repeated. "Just-"

"Where are we?" Andy asked.

"Andy, look, calm down," Sam said, tossing away the wood in an attempt to look less threatening.

"I can't calm down," Andy gasped. "I just woke up in freaking frontier land!"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Andy exhaled deeply. "It was weird. All of a sudden, there was this really intense smell, like a…"

"Like sulfur?"

"How did you know that?"

Sam paused. "Dean."

"Your brother, is he- is he here?"

"I don't know where he is," Sam admitted. "I don't know if he's-"

A shrill scream in the distance drew their attention. A door rattled violently.

"Hello?" Sam called, as they approached the shaking door.

"No! Help me!"

"Okay, okay, I'm here," Sam said, knocking a few times on the wood. "We're gonna get you out, alright? Just hold on a second." The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He picked up a heavy rock nearby and broke the lock. "Alright, one second." He removed the lock fully, and the door swung open to reveal…

"Ava?"

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "Sam!" She collapsed into his arms with a sob.

"So, I guess you guys know each other," Andy said awkwardly.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"How did you- I mean, how did-"

"Ava, have you been here this whole time?" Sam questioned.

"What whole time?" Ava looked genuinely bewildered. " I just woke up in there like a half an hour ago."

"Well you've been gone for five months," Sam said. "My brother and I have been looking for you everywhere."

A disbelieving smile crossed her face. "That's impossible, cause I saw you two days ago."

"You didn't, I'm sorry."

"But that makes no sense. It's… not…" She sucked in a breath. "Oh my god! My fiance, Brady. If I've been missing for that long, he must be freaking out!"

"Well…" Sam started hesitantly.

Ava covered her mouth with her hand, and looked about to cry again when she caught sight of Andy and blanched.

"Hey." Andy gave a little wave. "Andy. Also freaking out."

"Okay," Ava muttered, turning back to Sam. "What's happening?"

"Well, I, uh- I don't really know yet, but I know one thing. I know what the three of us have in common."

Then a faint male voice called, "Hello? Anybody there?"

"Maybe more than three," Sam said, starting in the direction of the voice, the other two tagging along.

"Hello?" Sam said. An African American man in an army uniform and a woman in a leather coat stepped around the corner. "Hey! You guys alright?"

"Think so," the man said.

"I'm Sam," Sam introduced.

"I'm Jake."

The girl behind him spoke up, "Lily."

"Are there any more of you?" Sam asked.

Jake shook his head. "No."

"How did we even get here?" Lily asked. "A minute ago, I was in San Diego."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," Jake said, "I went to sleep last night in Afghanistan."

Ava raised an eyebrow.

"Let me take a wild guess. You two are both 23?" Sam inquired. "We all are, and we all have abilities."

"What?" Jake said.

"It started a little over a year ago? You find you can do things you didn't think were possible?" When no one spoke out, Sam continued, "I have visions. I see things before they happen."

Ava nodded. "Yeah, me too."

"And I can put thoughts into people's heads," Andy said. "Like, make them do stuff. Oh, but don't worry, I don't think it works on you guys. Oh, but get this, um, I've been practicing, training my brain, like meditation, right? So now, it's not just thoughts that I can beam out, but images, too. Like, anything I want. It's like bam! People, they see it. This one guy I know, total dick, I used it on him. Gay porn, all hours of the day. It's just like... You should've seen the look on his face." He chuckled, seemed to realize he had been rambling, and quickly closed his mouth.

"So you go 'Simon says give me your wallet', and they do?" Lily snapped. "You have visions? That's great. I'd kill for something like that."

"Lily, listen, it's okay," Sam said, always the mediator.

"No, it's not." She held up her hand. "I touch people? Their hearts stop. I can barely leave my house. My life's not exactly improved. So screw you. I just want to go home."

"And what, we don't?" Jake said.

"You know what, don't talk to me like-"

"Hey guys, come on," Sam interrupted. "Look, whether we like it or not, we're all here, and so we all have to deal with this."

Lily turned away.

"Who brought us here?" Andy asked.

"It's less of a 'who'. It's more of a 'what'."

"What does that mean?" Ava questioned.

Sam looked down. "It's, uh… It's a demon."

Lily scoffed.

* * *

"This is it. All demonic signs and omens over the past month." Bobby Singer pointed at the map, which was currently laid out on the hood of the Impala.

"Are you joking?" Dean asked. "There's nothing here."

"Exactly," Bobby said with a shrug.

"Come on, there's got to be something, I mean, what about the normal, low-level stuff? You know, exorcisms, that kind of thing?"

"That's what I'm tellin' ya," Bobby said. "There's nothing. It's completely quiet."

"How are we supposed to look for Sam? What, do we just close our eyes and point?" His cell phone rang, and he quickly answered it. "Ash, what do you got?"

" _Okay, listen. It's a bit negatory on Sam._ "

"Come on man, you got to give us something! We're looking at a 3,000 mile haystack here."

" _Listen, Dean,_ " His voice dropped to a whisper. " _I did find something._ "

"Well, what?"

" _I can't talk over this line, Dean._ "

"Come on, I don't have time for this!"

" _Make time, okay? Cause this-_ " Ash paused briefly, " _-not only does this almost definitely help you find your brother, this is... It's huge. So get here now._ " And without further ado, he hung up.

"Guess we're going to the Roadhouse," Dean said. "Come on."

* * *

"So, we're soldiers in a demon war to bring on the Apocalypse?" Jake demanded.

"When you put it like that-"

"And we've been picked?"

"Yes."

"Why us?"

"I'm not sure, okay? But look, I just know-"

"Sam," Ava interrupted. "I'm sorry. Psychics and spoon-bending is one thing, but demons?"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy-" Sam tried, but everyone seemed intent on stopping his speech.

"It doesn't just _sound_ it," Jake said.

"I don't really care what you think, okay?" Sam snapped. "If we're all gathered here together, then that means it's starting, and that we need-"

"The only thing I got to do is stay away from wackjobs, okay? I've heard enough. I'm better off on my own." Jake glanced around at the others. "FYI, so are you." And with that, he started to walk off.

"Jake, hold on," Sam said, but he was already gone. "Jake!" He let out a sigh.

Jake strode past the old houses, determined to get as far away from crazyville as he could, when he saw a little girl's face pressed up against a dirty window. He stopped and stared, but before he could do anything, she vanished, right before his eyes.

He walked up to the door and carefully opened it. It was empty, save for a blackboard on one wall. "Hello?" he called. "It's alright. Don't be scared. Are you lost?" The door swung shut behind him. "Hello?"

Off to the side, there came a faint squeaking sound, like chalk. He whipped around to see the words _I WILL NOT KILL_ written from the top to the bottom of the blackboard in two columns.

At the sound of giggling, Jake turned around again, only to see a blonde girl wearing a faded nightgown staring at him. Her fingers were poised, like claws, and then they were claws, lengthening and sharpening into points.

"Get back!" he warned, but she was already lunging forward, with intent to kill, her face warped into an ugly snarl.

Before she could dig those claws into Jake's face, Sam grabbed an iron poker and slashed it through her. She turned into black smoke, spinning outside and forcing the other three to duck.

"Just so you know," Sam said, panting, "That was a demon." He turned on his heel, dropped the poker, and stepped outside. "And that thing? I'm not sure, but I think it was an achiri; a demon that disguises itself as a little girl. Still doesn't tell us where we are." Looking up, he asked, "Andy, you with me or what?"

Andy raised one finger. "Give me a minute. Still working through 'demons are real'."

Jake now stood off to the side, studying an old brass bell.

"I've seen that bell before," Sam said. "I think I know where we are now; Cold Oak, South Dakota. The town's so haunted every single resident fled."

"Swell," Ava said sarcastically. "Good to know we're somewhere so historical."

"Why in the world would that demon or whatever put us here?" Lily asked.

"I'm wondering the same thing," Sam admitted.

Lily fiddled with a chain around her neck for a few seconds before shaking her head. "You know what? It doesn't matter. Clearly the only sane thing to do here is get the hell out of dodge."

"Wait, hold on," Sam said. "Lily, the only way out is through miles of woods."

"Beats hanging out with demons," Lily refuted, swiveling as if to walk away.

"Lily, we don't know what's going on yet. I mean, we don't even know how many of them are out there right now."

"Yeah, he's right," Jake agreed. "We should-"

"Don't say 'we'!" Lily spat. "I'm not part of 'we'. I have nothing in common with any of you."

"Okay, look, I know-"

"You don't know anything!" Lily said harshly. "I to-" She inhaled sharply. "I accidentally touched my girlfriend."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, after a beat of silence filled with sympathetic looks cast her way.

"Whatever. I feel like I'm in a nightmare, and it just keeps getting worse and worse."

"I've lost people too." Sam swallowed. "I have a brother out there right now. He could be dead, for all I know. We're all in bad shape, but I'm telling you, the best way out of this is to stick together."

"Fine," Lily muttered.

* * *

"We're looking for iron, silver, salt; any kind of weapon," Sam listed to Jake.

"Salt is a weapon?"

"It's a brave, new world."

"Hopefully there's food in your world-" Andy grumbled, "-cause I'm freaking starving."

As soon as everyone had entered the house, Lily lingered by the door. Finally, making a split-second decision, she started a brisk walk down the road. She glanced back momentarily, feeling guilty for leaving, but at the same time, she needed to get out. The forest welcomed her with open arms.

* * *

When Dean and Bobby pulled up to the Roadhouse, all they found was the smoldering building frame. Smoke was still drifting up from the rubble.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered.

The place had been completely burned to the ground. Charred pieces of wood decorated the grass, and blackened skeletons lay among the ashes. Scorched hats and boots scattered the area. It was utterly demolished. Whoever had been inside was most certainly dead.

"My god," Bobby murmured as they picked their way through the ruins.

"You see Ellen?" Dean asked tentatively, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

"No," said Bobby. "No Ash, either."

Dean crouched down and inspected a crispy arm poking through some wood planks. A black watch circled the wrist. "Oh Ash, damn it!"

* * *

Lily picked her way through the woods, stumbling over logs and shoving tree limbs away from her face. Her long coat wasn't helping, snagging on every bush and rock and being an utter nuisance. She considered discarding it, but it was chilly, so she kept it tightly tucked around herself.

She stopped abruptly as the air was filled with warbling sounds, like distorted laughter. All around her, tree branches rustled and fell down of their own accord.

Shivering, she ran from the clearing as fast as she could.

* * *

Twirling the poker, Sam knelt down and opened an old chest. It was filled with cloth and pottery, but he did find a rusty knife. He closed the chest and turned to see Ava rubbing her temples and grimacing.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked concernedly.

"Yeah," Ava replied, but her voice was strained. "I'm just… I don't know, a little dizzy."

"A-Are you sure it's not some kind-"

"What, some kind of freaky vision thing?" she lowered her hands. "No, more like I'd just kill for a sandwich. I haven't eaten since… Well, who knows?" At Sam's small nod, she shook her head. "No, its, don't worry, I'm fine. Except for every single thing that's happening."

Sam chuckled.

"You guys! I found something!" Andy called from upstairs.

They headed up to find Andy holding two large bags and grinning. "Salt!"

"That's great, Andy," Sam said, "Now we all can s-"

 _Thump._

Sam frowned. "Where's Lily?"

 _Thump._

Ava looked back. "Lily?"

"Lily!" Sam shouted.

Outside, high-pitched laughter and the sounds of wood snapping had them running out the door.

Up on the windmill, Lily hung by her neck from a rope, motionless. Andy stopped short.

"Oh my god," Ava gasped. She covered her mouth with her hands. "Okay, that- that's officially just-" She whirled around and grabbed Sam's sleeve. "Sam, she's dead! She's dead! You said we were chosen for a reason! That is not chosen! That's killed!" She shook her head rapidly. "Okay. You know, we have to get out of here." She started to walk past Sam, but he stopped her with a firm arm.

"I second that emotion," Andy piped up.

"Not sure that's an option," Jake said quietly.

"What?" Ava asked.

"Lily was trying to leave," Sam explained. "The Demon's not gonna let us get away that easy. We gotta gear up for the next attack."

"Oh, gear up?" Ava looked on the verge of tears. "Okay, well, I'm not a soldier. I can't do that!"

"Look, if you want to stay alive, you're gonna have to," Sam said sternly, like he was speaking to a young child. He looked back up at Lily's body. "Let's go."

Ava was the first to rush off, with Andy close behind. Jake sighed.

"I'll get her down," he promised.

As they walked beneath the awning, Sam said to Andy, "You know, I was just thinking about how much Dean would help right now. I'd give my arm for a working phone.

"You know, you may not need one," Andy said. "I, uh, I mean, I've never tried it long-distance before. Do you- do you have anything of Dean's on you, like something he touched?"

"Uh…" Sam rifled through his pockets and produced a scrap if paper. "I got a receipt, will that work?"

Andy took it from him. "Yeah." He squinted at the signature. "D. Hasselhoff?"

"Yeah, that's Dean's signature," Sam said, chuckling. "It… It's hard to explain."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "Alright."

* * *

Bobby stepped over chunks of singed wood, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is…" He was unable to finish his sentence.

"What the hell did Ash know?" Dean wondered aloud. "We got no way of knowing where Ellen is, or if she's even alive. We got no clue what Ash was gonna tell us. Now how the hell are we gonna find Sam?"

"We'll find him," Bobby said.

Suddenly, Dean grimaced and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Dean?"

"Ah!" Dean's face screwed up in pain as he doubled over, clutching his head. His vision flashed to white as he was overwhelmed with the feeling of pressure squeezing his skull. Then it was like he was watching a glitchy movie, a scene flickering before him. He briefly saw an old bell before he was staring at Bobby again, who looked confused and suspicious.

"What was that?" Bobby asked.

Dean shuddered and braced himself against the Impala. "I don't know. Headache?"

"You get headaches like that a lot?"

"No." Dean swallowed hard. "No. It must be the stress." After a pause, he muttered, "I could've sworn I saw something."

Bobby stared at him. "What do you mean? Like- Like a vision? Like what Sam gets?"

Dean looked almost scandalized. "What? No."

"Just saying."

"Come on, I'm not some psychic," Dean said quickly. He rubbed his temples.

Groaning, his legs gave out and he collapsed as the pain returned full force. He saw the bell again, but this time, it was closer, and he also saw Sam standing beside it.

Bobby gripped his shoulder. "Dean, you with me?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted. "I think so. I saw Sam. I saw him, Bobby." He pressed his forehead against the hood to steady himself.

"It was a vision," said Bobby.

"Yeah. I don't know how, but yeah." Dean tried for a small smile. "That was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels."

"What else did you see?" Bobby questioned.

"Uh, there was a bell."

"What kind of bell?"

"Um… Like a big- a big bell with some kind of engraving on it. I don't know."

Bobby frowned. "Engraving?"

"Yeah."

"Was it a tree?" Bobby asked. "Like an oak tree?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Bobby slowly nodded. "I know where Sam is."

* * *

 _Clang._

Sam hit the iron spokes as hard as he could, but didn't make any progress on breaking it. Jake, on the other hand, easily snapped the rusted metal with one arm. Sam raised an eyebrow at the impressive feat.

Jake looked away. "I-I'm not Superman or anything. It's no big deal."

"You were in Afghanistan when this started?"

"I started getting headaches," Jake said, rubbing a thumb against the spoke. "Then, uh, there was this accident. This guy flipped his vehicle on a bad road, got pinned underneath. I lifted it off him like it was nothing. E-Everyone said it was a fluke adrenaline thing."

"But then you did it again," Sam guessed.

Jake nodded. "Bench pressed 800 pounds, stone-cold calm."

Sam chuckled disbelievingly.

"I never told anybody, of course. It's just too crazy."

"Yeah, well, crazy's relative," Sam said.

"I'm starting to get that." Jake paused, then said, "By the way, I, uh, appreciate what you're doing."

"What am I doing?" Sam asked.

"Keeping calm, keeping them calm," Jake answered. "Especially considering how freaked to hell you really are." He gave a wry smile at Sam's confused look. "I've been in some deep crap before myself. I know the look."

Sam hesitated. "Wanna know the truth? I got this brother, right? And he's always telling me how he's gonna watch out for me, how everything's gonna be okay, you know? Kind of like I've been telling them."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know if I believe it this time. I mean, the size of what's coming- It's bigger than anyone's ever seen." Sam tried to rein in his worries and failed. "I mean, it's gonna get bad, and I-I don't know if-"

"If we're gonna make it," Jake finished. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter if we believe it. Only matters that they do."

Sam resumed banging on the metal spokes, feeling lighter than before.

* * *

Sam carefully emptied the bag of salt, forming a thick line in front of the door. Across the room, Ava did the same to the windows.

"My horoscope said I shouldn't have gotten out of bed." She set down the bag.

Sam sighed.

She looked over at him. "How you doing? Holding up?"

He nodded. "I'm okay. What about you?"

"Not so okay," Ava admitted. "Why us, Sam? What did we do to deserve this?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

"If it wasn't for bad luck, wouldn't have no luck at all," she said sagely. "Just can't wait for this all to be over so I can just pretend it never happened. Just want to curl up with Brady and watch bad TV."

Sam looked down at the ground apologetically.

"What is it?" Ava asked. He shook his head. "Sam, do you know something I don't?"

He exhaled. "Look, Ava. I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to tell you this."

"Tell me what?"

"When the Demon broke into your house to take you... Your fiance didn't make it. I'm sorry."

"No, it's…" Ava choked out a sob and collapsed into Sam's arms, tears slipping down her face. Sam held her steady, feeling like he wanted to cry himself and release the heavy pressure of guilt in his chest.

* * *

Jake stood guard by the door, fiddling with the iron wheel spoke in his hand. Sam sat in the corner in a chair, Andy was slumped over, asleep, and Ava sat at the head of the table, staring blankly at the wood. Her eyes were red.

Sam found himself struggling to stay awake. _The fire crackled, warmth washing over him. He blinked and looked up to see the Yellow-Eyed Demon smirking at him from the shadows._

 _"Jake! Behind you!" Sam cried, but Jake didn't move._

 _"Howdy, Sam," The Demon greeted, now leaning in the doorway._

 _"I'm dreaming," Sam realized._

 _Somehow, the shadows casted perfectly so that the only light accented his swirling yellow eyes. "What do you say you and I take a little walk?"_

 _He escorted Sam outside, who stayed a few feet behind him at all times. "You're awfully quiet, Sam," The Demon said. "You're not mad at me, are you?"_

 _"I'm gonna tear you to shreds, I swear," Sam vowed darkly._

 _The Demon chuckled, like Sam had told a funny joke. "When you wake up, tiger, you give it your best shot."_

 _"Where's my brother?" Sam demanded._

 _"Quit worrying about Dean. I'd worry more about yourself."_

 _"What, you're gonna kill me?" Sam held out his arms._

 _The Demon turned around, looking exasperated. "I'm trying to help you. That's why we're talking. You're the one I'm rooting for."_

 _"What's that supposed to mean?"_

 _"Welcome to the Miss America Pageant," The Demon drawled. "Why do you think you're here? This is a competition. Only one of you crazy kids is gonna make it out of here alive."_

 _"I thought we were supposed to be-"_

 _"Soldiers, in a coming war?" The Demon finished, smirking. "That's true. You are. But here's the thing. I don't need soldiers." He pushed past Sam, circling him like a hungry predator. "I need soldier. I just need the one."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Now, I couldn't just come out and say that, could I, Sam? I had to let everyone think they had a fighting chance. But what I need… is a leader."_

 _"To lead who?"_

 _"Oh, I've already got my army." The Demon looked incredibly smug. "Or I will soon, anyway."_

 _"You son of a b*tch."_

 _"Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't guessed. I mean, why do you think so many children flamed out already?" He drew out each 's' longer than necessary, like a snake. "Max Miller and Andy's brother- What's his name? They weren't strong enough. I'm looking for the best and brightest of your generation."_

 _"My generation?"_

 _"Well, there's other generations, but let's just worry about yours. That's why I'm here, Sam." The Demon paced back and forth around Sam, like a hawk circling his prey. "I want to give you the inside track. You're tough, you're smart, you're well trained. Thanks to your Daddy. Sam." He raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Sammy. You're my favorite."_

 _"You ruined my life," Sam spat. "You killed everyone I love."_

 _"The cost of doing business, I'm afraid." The Demon's ugly goldenrod eyes roamed his face. "I mean, sweet little Jessica… She just had to die. You were all set to marry that little blonde thing, become a tax lawyer with two kids, a beer gut and a little McMansion in the suburbs. I needed you sharp, on the road, honing your skills- Your gifts."_

 _"What about my mom?"_

 _"That was bad luck," The Demon explained._

 _"Bad luck?"_

 _"She walked in on us. Wrong place, wrong time."_

 _"What does that mean?" Sam asked, just the tiniest bit curious._

 _"It wasn't about her. It was about you. It's always been about you."_

 _"What?"_

 _The Demon tilted his head back in consideration, sliding a tongue over his teeth. "Well… Okay. You caught me in a charitable mood. I'll show you." He snapped his fingers._

 _Suddenly they were standing in a bedroom. A child's bedroom, it looked like. A baby was asleep in the cradle, and a figure cloaked in shadows loomed over it._

 _"Look familiar? It should."_

 _Baby Sam let out a little cry from where he lay._

 _Sam started to move forward, but The Demon stopped him with one arm. "Relax, Sam. This is just a high-def instant replay. Enjoy the show."_

 _Mary Winchester walked into the room, eyes squinted and hair tangled. She leaned on the doorframe. "John? Is he hungry?"_

 _Past Demon leaning over the crib only whispered, "Shh."_

 _"Okay." Mary turned and stepped back out, rubbing her eyes._

 _"Mom!" Sam tried, but it was futile._

 _"What did I just tell you, Sam? She can't hear you. This isn't real."_

 _Focusing back on the scene, Sam watched as The Demon carefully made a slit on his wrist. Thick, dark blood dripped from the wound and into baby Sam's mouth._

 _"What the hell are you doing to me?" Sam demanded._

 _"Better than mother's milk" was The Demon's only response._

 _"Does this mean I have… demon blood, in me?" Sam asked, horrified._

 _The Demon chuckled._

 _"Answer me!"_

 _Just then, Mary rushed back into the room, looking panicked. She caught sight of Past Demon's yellow eyes, and understanding flooded her expression. "It's you."_

 _"She knew you," Sam realized._

 _Mary moved forward, but Past Demon jerked his head, and she slammed into the wall with a grunt. She glared at Past Demon, but her concern was only for her child, who was beginning to cry in his crib. Her feet left the floor as she slid up the wall, pinned by the Past Demon._

 _Sam gazed up at her in anguish._

 _"I don't think you want to see the rest of this," The Demon muttered, and snapped his fingers just as Mary had begun to scream._

"Sam, wake up."

Sam sucked in a breath and looked up to see Jake standing over him.

"Ava's missing."

The pair of them ran down the steps and onto the deserted road, Sam clutching the poker and Jake needing nothing but his hands. They paused in the center.

"I'll take the barn and the hotel," Jake volunteered. "You take the houses."

"Alright. Meet back here in 10 minutes, okay?"

Sam took off to search the nearest house.

Andy poked his head out into the hallway cautiously. Sam and Jake were gone to look for Ava, and he was alone in the dark house. Very carefully, he stepped back over the line of salt as to not disturb it. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet.

"Ava, where'd you go?" he asked, seeing her standing near the window. "Didn't you hear us yelling?"

Ava's back was still to him, but when she turned around, she looked calm and collected. Almost too calm. "Yeah, I heard you." At the steely expression on her face, Andy took a step back. Slowly, she reached up and pressed her fingers into her temples and closed her eyes.

Andy's eyes latched onto the distinct break in the salt line on the window, just as a black cloud funneled through and pooled into the room.

"What are you doing?"

Ava lowered her hands. The smoke materialized into the shape of a little girl, who lunged at Andy and knocked him onto his back. Her fingers sharpened into claws, and an invisible force ripped him apart from the inside out.

Andy groaned, coughing up blood.

Ava smiled, then schooled her face into one of shock and terror, and opened her mouth to let out a piercing scream.

* * *

From outside, Sam heard the shrieks, and quickly bolted back into the house. He found Andy's bloodied corpse, the crimson liquid soaking his shirt, and Ava standing before him, looking utterly terrified.

"Sam, I just found him like this!" Ava sobbed.

"What happened?" Sam asked numbly. He liked Andy, and hadn't expected him to be the next to die.

Ava shook her head through her tears. "I don't know."

"How did that thing get in?" Sam questioned, checking the salt lines on the windows and doors. He turned back to stare at Ava. "Where were you?"

"I just went to get some water from the well," she tried to explain. "I was only gone, maybe, like, two minutes."

"You shouldn't gone outside," Sam admonished gently. "Ava, we have to stay in here." His eyes drifted over and focused on the broken salt line. He pointed. "Who did that?"

Ava followed his finger to the line. "I don't know. Maybe Andy-"

"Andy wouldn't do that," Sam said harshly. "Ava, that line wasn't broken when I left." He stared hard at her, fury welling up in his chest at the thought her being the cause of Andy's death. "Ava."

"What? You don't think that I-"

"I'll tell you what I think. Five months. You're the only one with all that time you can't account for." He took a step towards her. "And that headache you got… right when the demon got Lily."

"What are you trying to say?" Ava said, her voice breaking.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing!" she exclaimed. She kept up the innocent act for a few more seconds before her forehead smoothed out and she let out a sigh. She chuckled. "Had you going, though, didn't I?" A stray tear slipped down, and she wiped it away calmly. "Yeah. I've been here a long time, and not alone either. People just keep showing up. Children, like us. Batches of three or four at a time."

"You killed them?" Sam asked, aghast. "All of them?"

"I'm the undefeated heavyweight champ," she gloated with a smile.

"Oh my god," Sam whispered in disbelief.

"I don't think God has much to do with this, Sam."

"How could you?"

"I had no choice. It's me or them." Ava seemed incredibly aloof about the fact that she had been murdering people for months. "After a while, it was easy. It was even kind of fun. I just stopped fighting it."

"Fighting what?"

"Who we are, Sam." She gazed at him with disdain and a hint of hopefulness. "If you'd just quit your hand-wringing and open yourself up, you have no _idea_ what you can do. The learning curve is so fast-" she snapped her fingers, "-it's crazy, the switches that just flip in your brain." She laughed. "I can't believe I started out just having dreams. Do you know what I can do now?"

"Control demons," Sam guessed.

"Ah. You are quick on the draw." And with that, Ava pressed her fingers to her temples and concentrated. Another smoky black mass slipped through the break in the salt. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Sam. But… It's over."

And before she could do any more damage, Jake grabbed her from behind and snapped her neck in one swift movement. The demon escaped back through the place it came. Jake dropped her body, where it landed on the floor with a _thud._

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the road and hopped out, Bobby close behind.

"It looks like the rest of the way's on foot," Bobby remarked, gazing out at the dense foliage.

They dug through the trunk and armed themselves with shotguns and other stuff they might've needed, like extra ammo and salt. Dean cocked his weapon.

"Let's go."

* * *

Stepping outside, Sam said, "I think we can make it out of here now."

"But the achiri demon," Jake said.

"No, no, no, Ava was summoning it, controlling it. It shouldn't come back now that she's dead. We got to go."

Jake slowly shook his head. "No. Not 'we', Sam." He stopped walking, forcing Sam to do the same. "Only one of us is getting out of here. I'm sorry." He looked legitimately apologetic, like he really didn't want to kill Sam.

"What?"

"I had a vision," he explained. "That Yellow-Eyed Demon, or whatever it was, he talked to me. He told me how it was."

"No, Jake, listen. You can't listen to him-" Sam started to argue.

"Sam, he's not letting _us_ go," Jake said. "Only one. Now, we don't play along, he'll kill us both. Now, I-I like you, man. I do, but do the math here. What good's it do for both of to die? Now, I can get out of here, I get close to The Demon, I can kill the bastard."

"Come with me," Sam pleaded. "We can kill him together."

"How do I know you won't turn on me?" Jake asked, although it was sort of hypocritical, as he was literally turning on Sam at that very moment.

"I won't," Sam replied desperately. He had seen a potential ally in Jake, and maybe even a friend, but now that option seemed to be flying out the window.

"I don't know that."

"Okay, look," Sam said, raising his hands placatingly. He carefully reached down and pulled the rusted knife from his waistline and set it on the ground. Jake watched the movement cautiously. "Just come with me, Jake. Don't do this. Don't play into what it wants."

Jake slowly put the spoke on the ground beside the knife.

Sam nodded, relief flooding him, and murmured, "Okay."

And that was when Jake punched him so hard in the face that he went flying back several feet and broke the fence, hitting the ground with a grunt of pain. Stunned, he was unable to muster the strength to sit up, while Jake advanced on him, snapping whatever was left of the fence to clear his path.

Sam stared up at him pleadingly, but Jake mercilessly kicked him with supernatural strength, over and over again, until Sam managed to shove him backwards while he scrambled to his feet. Jake whipped around, holding a chunk of wood, and drove it into Sam's shoulder. Fiery pain lit up his arm as he heard several bones cracking. He stumbled away, clutching his shoulder, but Jake punched him in the side and sent him to the ground again.

His shoulder burning, Sam managed to dodge another punch that broke clear through the wood, and took the opportunity to knee Jake in the chest, several times, until Jake pulled his hand free and Sam kicked him so forcefully he landed on his back in the mud.

Before Jake could get back up and retaliate, Sam picked up the metal spoke and smacked him across the face with it, knocking him out cold. Gazing down at Jake's prone form, hot fury rushed over him, and Sam raised the spoke with the intent to jam it into his skull, but he stopped.

He couldn't do what The Demon wanted him to do. He had to be better than that.

So he tossed the spoke away, his arm still tucked against his chest.

"Sam!"

Sam wheeled around to see Dean and Bobby jogging towards him in the distance. They each carried flashlights and a shotgun in each hand.

Dean smiled. "Sam!" The tension noticeably drained from his shoulders.

"Dean," Sam called, happy that his brother had finally found him. Now they could go home and pretend this whole fiasco never happened.

Suddenly Dean's face morphed into one of terror. "Sam, look out!"

Behind him, Jake drove the rusty knife into Sam's back, twisted it, then yanked it out and took off in the opposite direction.

"NO!" Dean shouted, his brisk walk turning into a full on sprint as he rushed to catch his brother.

Sam fell to his knees, a low moan escaping him as his head tilted towards the sky. Before he could fall, Dean skidded to a stop and dropped down and grabbed his shirt to hold him upright.

"No, Sam," he whispered, even as Sam slumped against him, his arms limp at his sides. "Whoa, whoa. Sam. Sam! Hey!"

Bobby chased after Jake, but he was not longer in his prime and Jake was much faster than him.

"Hey, come here," Dean murmured, holding Sam close. "Let me look at you." His fingers found the knife wound and came away bloody. He quickly held Sam up before him. "Hey, look at me. It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright? Sammy?"

Sam's head lolled on his shoulders, his eyes glazing over. Blood dripped from his lips.

"Sam!" Dean said sharply, shaking him. "Hey, listen to me. We're gonna patch you up, okay? You'll be good as new. Huh?"

Sam couldn't find the strength to keep his head up.

"I'm gonna take of you, I'm gonna take care of you," Dean promised. "I got you. That's my job, right?" He cradled Sam's face with trembling hands. "Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother. Sam? Sam."

Sam's eyes fluttered shut.

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean's lower lip quivered. "No. No no no no no. Oh, god." He wrapped both arms around Sam's body, propping his head up on his shoulder because Sam couldn't do it himself. "Oh, _god._ " His voice fractured and broke. Tears welled up in his eyes. "SAM!"


	4. 3x1 - The Magnificent Seven

9:30.

The sun had set, and darkness engulfed the sky. The city of Oak Park, Illinois, was quiet and still. Along a desolate road, a man stepped out onto his front porch, swinging a black trash bag behind him. His door clanged shut.

He crossed his driveway and headed for the garbage cans, when a glint caught his eye. His neighbor's new car, gleaming in the moonlight. He glanced back at his own car, rusty and banged-up as it was. He let out a sigh, shrugging off the pang of jealousy that hit him.

He removed the lid from the metal can and tossed his trash inside, then began to head back to his house. As soon as he reached his car, however, the trash cans started to rattle, like something was attempting to escape from within. Then the streetlamps began to flicker, plunging the road into occasional darkness at the same moment that a barking dog could be heard in the distance. His house lights, along with everyone else's, flashed sporadically. A crashing noise above made him look up.

A huge, writhing mass of storm clouds filled the sky, lightning crackling within. Thunder boomed as it pulsed and shuddered. He moved forward to gaze at the storm, mouth agape.

Suddenly, a thin funnel of smoke broke away from the clouds, followed by a myriad of identical ones, all racing towards the ground at breakneck speed. He backed away in fright, then turned and ran for his door, banging into the trash cans in his hurry. He glanced back every few moments in an attempt to keep his eye on the mysterious smoke, but that ended up slowing him down, and the funnel reached him easily. It bowled him over, forcing him to sprawl out on his back as it reared its swirling head and plunged into his mouth, tunneling all the way inside until the smoke was gone.

The demon opened its pitch black eyes. It slowly stood up, taking advantage of its host's full height. Car alarms blared, and streetlamps buzzed with energy. It watched the rest of its brethren descend on the glowing city in a roiling, furious mass of hellspawn.

* * *

 _~ One Week Later ~_

Sam Winchester perused an old volume of lore, shining his flashlight on the brittle pages in question. He narrowed his eyes in interest when a title caught his attention: **Devil at the Crossroads**.

Glancing up at the house he was parked in front of, he saw Dean in the window, wearing a white tank top. Dean grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up. Sam raised an eyebrow, but nodded in acknowledgement nonetheless. Dean's smile brightened, and he swept the curtains together, but that did nothing to hide the shadows behind it.

Sam sighed and shook his head. His phone rang; the caller I.D said it was Bobby. "Hello?"

" _Hey, Sam_."

"Hey, Bobby."

" _Whatcha doing_?" Bobby asked.

"Oh, same-old, same-old," Sam replied, picking absently at the book cover.

" _You buried in that book again_?" A pause. " _Sam, you wanna break Dean free of that demon deal, you ain't gonna find the answer in no book_."

"Then where, Bobby?" Sam's tone was weary.

" _Kid, I wish I knew. So where's your brother_?"

Sam watched as the shadows behind the curtains vanished. "Polling the electorate."

" _What_?"

"Never mind."

" _Well, you boys better pack it up. I think I finally found something_."

Sam jogged up to the house and tested the front door. When he found it was unlocked, he eased it open and stepped inside. "Dean? Dean, you conscious? Bobby called, and he thinks that maybe we-" Sam stopped short once he witnessed the scene within. "Oh, god." He choked and backed up, hurriedly slamming the door behind him.

* * *

The Impala skipped along the road as Dean stepped on the gas, grinning widely. Sam clutched the armrest, bouncing in his seat.

"Let me see your knife," Sam said.

"What for?" Dean asked.

"So I can gouge my eyes out."

Dean chuckled. "It was a beautiful, natural act, Sam."

"It was a part of you I never wanted to see, Dean," Sam replied flatly.

Dean laughed and patted Sam's knee. "Hey, I appreciate you giving me a little quality time with the Doublemint Twins."

"No problem."

"Really?" Dean glanced at him, surprised. "Well, I gotta say, I was expecting a weary sigh or an eye roll, something."

"Not at all, you deserve to have a little fun." Sam fixed his stare on the road ahead, letting out a soft breath.

"Well, I'm in violent agreement with you there. What's Bobby got?"

"Not much. Crop failure and a cicada swarm outside of Lincoln, Nebraska," Sam rattled off. "Could be demonic omens."

"Or could just be a bad crop and a bug problem," Dean countered.

"Yeah, but it's our only lead."

"Any freaky deaths?"

"Nothing Bobby could find - not yet, anyway."

"It's weird, man," Dean remarked, "I mean, the night that the Devil's Gate opened, all these weirdo storm clouds were sighted over how many cities?"

"17," Sam supplied.

"17. You think it would be 'Apocalypse Now', but it's been five days and bubkes." Dean looked over at Sam, who only pressed his lips together. "What are the demons waiting for?"

"Beats me."

"It's driving me crazy," Dean muttered. "I tell you, if it's gonna be war, I wish it would just start already."

"I don't know, man. Be careful what you wish for," Sam warned grimly.

* * *

~ _Just Outside Lincoln Nebraska_ ~

Cicadas buzzed in the warm afternoon, filling the air with their raucous chirping. Hanging linens rippled in the breeze, and barbed wire wound around an electrical pole. A 'No Trespassing' sign was nailed to a post. Sam and Dean pulled up in front of a cozy, two-story house, gravel crunching beneath the Impala's tires. Dean munched on a burger as he stepped out of the car.

"Hear those cicadas?" Sam noticed.

"That can't be a good sign."

"No. No, it can't."

Bobby was waiting for them, leaning on the back of his grimy car. He raised an eyebrow at Dean. "So, we're eating bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast, are we?"

"Well, sold my soul," Dean said flippantly, taking another generous bite, "got a year to live. I ain't sweating the cholesterol."

"So Bobby, what do you think?" Sam interrupted, changing the subject. "We got a biblical plague here, or what?"

"Well, let's find out." Bobby started to head for the house, the boys trailing behind him. "Looks like the swarm's ground zero."

Dean knocked on the front door a few times. In the absence of a reply, he called out obnoxiously, "Candygram!" Dean waited for a moment, then fished around in his pocket and produced a lockpick. Bobby cocked his gun.

As soon as the door swung open, the trio was hit with a rancid odor, causing Dean to cough violently and grimace.

"That's awful," Sam sniffed.

"That _so_ can't be a good sign," Dean added.

Bobby took off down a separate hallway, and the brothers proceeded together, with Dean in front and Sam bringing up the rear. When they reached another entrance, Dean nodded to his brother, then jumped around the corner, aiming his weapon around the empty room. They both exchanged a glance. They checked the next few rooms, coming up empty-handed each time. As they neared a window, a faint scream drew their attention.

"You hear that?" Sam muttered.

They paused before the last door. Gripping his gun tight, Sam slammed his weight against the wood, popping it open with a crash. The brothers braced themselves for whatever could be waiting within.

"Ugh," Dean groaned, covering his nose with his arm. The smell was even worse in there, permeating the air with the stench of rot. Sam made a similar noise of disgust.

A TV was playing across the room, airing a sort of soap opera drama. On the couch sat a family, each member silent and unmoving. They were dead.

"Oh my god," Sam gasped, wrinkling his nose.

As they moved closer, what they saw confirmed their fears: the family was no more than a group of corpses now, their bodies grey and wrinkled with decay, their cheeks hollow and eyes vacant. Flies buzzed around the bodies. Bobby stepped into the room and grimaced.

"Bobby, what the hell happened here?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Bobby admitted.

"Check for sulfur," Dean ordered.

" _... for one of his big deals,_ " the TV sobbed, as the trio walked around the room, inspecting the windowsills and armrests for the yellow powder. " _And now you're gonna buy my clothes! I hate this family!_ "

 _Creeeak._

Dean stiffened. He whistled lowly. Sam and Bobby tensed as Dean waved for them to go around the back. Meanwhile, Dean eased open the front door, peeking out at the patio. He stepped outside and leaned over the railing for a better look. The cicada chirping died down to a dull buzz. Dean walked a few feet, about to turn the corner, when someone lunged from the bushes and crashed into him, knocking the gun from his hands and sending him to the ground. An African-American man cocked his own gun, aiming it at Dean's head. A woman joined him, peering over his shoulder at Dean.

"Isaac? Tamara?"

Dean tilted his head back to see Bobby, striding over to them with all the ease in the world.

"Bobby? What the hell are you doing here?" the woman, supposedly Tamara, questioned. Her voice had a British lilt to it.

"I could ask the same." Bobby smiled at the pair.

"Heya, Bobby," Isaac exclaimed, extending a hand. The two shook hands.

"Hello?" Dean called, waving from the ground. "Bleeding here."

* * *

~ _Isaac & and Tamara's House_ ~

Night had fallen. The five hunters stood around inside Isaac and Tamara's house, where they had a set-up similar to Bobby's. Dean leaned in the doorway, chatting on the phone with a woman. Bobby inspected some maps pinned to a board, while Sam delicately handled some bones hanging from the ceiling.

"Honey, where's the Palo Santo?" Isaac asked.

"Well, where'd you leave it?"

"I don't know, dear," Isaac sighed in exasperation. "That's why I'm asking."

"Palo Santo?" Sam questioned, releasing the hangings.

"It's holy wood from Peru," Tamara explained, crossing the room to help Isaac look. "It's toxic to demons, like holy water. Keeps the bastards nailed down while you're exorcising them." She fished the stake of Palo Santo from a chest and handed it to Isaac.

"Thank you, dear."

"You'd lose your head if it wasn't for me," Tamara reprimanded, not unkindly.

"So, how long you two been married?" Sam asked.

"Eight years, this past June." Tamara smiled. Isaac leaned over and kissed her forehead while Sam chuckled in disbelief.

"The family that slays together..." Isaac started.

"Right. I'm with you there," said Sam. "So how'd you get started?"

Instantly, the couple sobered up. The atmosphere turned tense, as the smile faded from Tamara's face. She cast her gaze to the floor. Isaac let out a soft sigh. Sam, upon realizing that the question he'd asked was inappropriate, promptly apologized.

"Oh, you know, I'm sorry. It's not - that's none of my business." Glancing over at Bobby, the older man gave him a warning look.

"No, no, it's alright," Tamara assured him, although the expression she was trying to conceal told him otherwise.

"Well, Jenny, if you look as pretty as you sound," Dean was saying as he strolled into the room, the phone still pressed to his ear. "Then I'd love to have an-" he gave a Sam a bewildered look, "-appletini. Yeah. Call you." Dean flipped the phone shut and pocketed it. "That was the coroner's tech."

"And?"

"Get this - that whole family, cause of death? Dehydration and starvation. There's no signs of restraint, no violence, no struggle; they just sat down and never got up."

"But there was a fully stocked kitchen just yards away," Bobby replied, frowning.

"Right," Sam agreed. "What is this, a demon attack?"

"If it is, it's not like anything I ever saw, and I've seen plenty."

"What now?" Dean asked. "What should we do?"

"Uh, _we're_ not going to do anything," Isaac interjected, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" asked Sam.

"You guys seem nice enough," Isaac placated, "but this ain't 'Scooby-Doo', and we don't play well with others."

"Well, I think we'd cover a lot more ground if we all worked together," Sam tried.

Isaac's tone took on a biting edge. "No offense, but we're not teaming with the damn fools who let the Devil's Gate get open in the first place."

"No offense?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Isaac, like you've never made a mistake," Tamara scolded, noticing the hostility forming between the groups.

"Yeah, locked my keys in the car. Turned my laundry pink." Isaac glared at Sam and Dean. "Never brought on the end of the world, though."

Dean chuckled humorlessly. "Alright, that's enough."

"Guys, this isn't helping," Sam mediated. "Dean-"

"Look," Isaac interrupted. "There are a couple hundred more demons out there now. We don't know where they are, when they'll strike. There ain't enough hunters in the _world_ to handle something like this. You brought war down on us - on _all_ of us."

"Okay, that's quite enough testosterone for now." Tamara grasped Isaac's arm and dragged him out of the room, shooting Sam the briefest of apologetic looks before vanishing.

Outside the house, hidden among the shadows, lurked a girl. She fixed her gaze on the house as the lights began to flicker.

* * *

Walter Rosen strolled into a store, seemingly aimlessly. He surveyed the occupants, until his gaze landed on a woman who was picking through some clothes. He walked up to her and tapped her. "Excuse me?"

She turned to face him. "Yes?"

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Those are... nice, shoes."

She glanced over at another woman with dark hair, who was examining a pair of green heels. "Oh yeah. They are nice." She looked back at Walter, who gave her an encouraging nod.

"Those are nice shoes," she said to the other woman, staring at said footwear.

"Aren't they?" the other agreed, smiling.

"I want them."

"Sorry. Last pair." And with that, the dark-haired lady walked away. As she proceeded to her car, the blonde followed her.

"Excuse me? I want those shoes," the blonde demanded.

"What? Are you crazy? No."

The blonde grabbed the woman and began slamming her into the car's windshield, eliciting cries of pain from the latter. The glass cracked, and blood gushed from the woman's eye. The car alarm went off, and people along the street screamed. The blonde tossed her victim to the ground, where she lay motionless. She scooped the bag of shoes off the ground and strode away, without looking back.

* * *

Sam watched the police investigate the crime scene, swabbing some blood off the concrete. He turned and stepped inside the store, where Dean was chatting to a woman.

"What happened outside makes you realize how fragile life really is," Dean was saying gently. The lady nodded along to his words. "You gotta make every second count." Sam coughed. "Excuse me a minute, would you?"

Sam sighed wearily. "Dean, what are you doing?"

"I'm comforting the bereaved. What are you doing?"

"Working," Sam replied shortly. "Dead body, possible demon attack - that kind of stuff."

"Sam, I'm sorry, it's just, you know, I don't have much time left, and…" He coughed. "Gotta make every second count."

"Yeah, right. Sorry."

"Apology accepted." Dean grinned. Bobby walked up behind him and inspected himself in the mirror. He was now dressed in a suit and tie, his hair combed back. Dean whistled. "Looking spiffy, Bobby. What were you, a G-man?"

"Attorney for the D.A's office," Bobby corrected. "I just spoke to the suspect."

"Yeah? So, what do you think?" Sam asked. "Is she possessed or what?"

"Don't think so. There's none of the usual signs: no blackouts, no loss of control. Totally lucid. Just, she really wanted those shoes. Spilled a glass of holy water on her just to be sure. Nothing."

"Maybe she's just some random wack job," Dean suggested.

"If it had been an isolated incident, maybe, but first the family, now this? I believe in a lot of things," Bobby said, "coincidence ain't one of 'em. Did you boys find anything around here?"

"No sulfur, nothing." Sam gave a little shrug.

"Well, maybe something," Dean interjected. He swiveled around, drawing everyone's attention to the security camera above their heads. He raised an eyebrow at Sam. "See? I'm working."

Bobby leaned over Sam's shoulder at the security cam. "Anything interesting?"

"I don't know yet," Sam replied. He rewound the footage, watching a man walk into the shop. "Might just be a guy- or it might be our guy." Together, they watched the man step up to the suspect, setting a hand on her shoulder and nodding at the victim. The trio exchanged a knowing look.

Outside the shop, Sam headed off down the street by himself, hands shoved into his pockets. He stared straight ahead, although something told him to turn around. An odd feeling washed over him, as if he were being watched. When he whirled around to look, he saw only empty air.

* * *

~ _12:07, The Old Terminal Pub_ ~

Bobby yawned. "What time is it?"

"Seven past midnight," Dean replied, after checking his watch.

Both of them were seated inside the Impala, parked in front of a pub. The sky was an inky black, and the parking lot was illuminated solely by streetlamps and glowing storefront signs.

"You sure this is the right place?" Bobby asked.

"No. But I spent all day canvassing this stupid town with this guy's stupid mug-" Dean briefly held up a photo of the suspect, "-and, supposedly, he drinks at this stupid bar."

 _Knock knock knock!_

Dean yelped and flinched, whipping around in his seat to see Sam banging on his window, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"That's not funny," Dean muttered, as Sam opened the passenger door and forced Dean to lean forward uncomfortably, so he could squeeze into the back.

"Alright, so," Sam started, adjusting himself in the back seat. "John Doe's name is Walter Rosen. He's from Oak Park, just west of Chicago. Went missing about a week ago."

"The night the Devil's Gate opened?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"So you think he's possessed?"

"It's a good bet." Sam met Bobby's gaze in the mirror. "So what, he just walks up to someone, touches them, and they go stark raving psycho or something?"

"Those demons that got out of the Gate- they're gonna be able do all kinds of things we haven't seen."

"You mean the demons we let out?"

"Guys," Dean said, stopping the conversation from veering into uncharted territory.

Across the parking lot, none other than Walter Rosen stepped out of his car, slamming the door behind him. He wore a dark green shirt and a jacket over it, and his gait was quick and leisurely.

"Alright," said Dean. "Showtime."

"Wait a minute," Bobby interjected.

"What?"

"What did I just say?" Bobby gave Dean a look. "We don't know what to expect out of this guy. We should tail him, 'til we know for sure."

"Oh, so he kills someone and we just sit here with our junk in our hands?"

"We're no good dead!" Bobby cried. He took in a deep breath, and when he spoke next, his voice was calmer. "And we're not gonna make a move until we know what the score is."

"Hey Bobby, I don't think that's an option," Sam piped up.

"Why not?"

Sam gestured outside the car, where Isaac and Tamara were walking across the parking lot towards the pub.

Bobby smacked the dashboard. "Damn it!"

* * *

Isaac and Tamara were sitting inside the pub at a table, facing away from their target. As faint rock music played from the jukebox, Walter Rosen tipped back his drink. A waitress walked by and slid two drinks in front of them.

"Thank you," Isaac said.

The waitress smiled. "You're welcome."

Tamara glanced over at Rosen. Isaac fingered his flask of holy water, and the two shared a look. In total, there seemed to be about seven people inside, so they knew they couldn't make a scene.

Then, Rosen got up and walked past them, headed for the restrooms.

"Pull the car in back," Isaac told her lowly. "We'll be right out."

Tamara reached over and took his hand in hers. "I love you."

"I know," Isaac replied, smiling. He stood up and went to follow after Rosen.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm and roughly wheeled him around. A tall, muscular man regarded him coldly. The bar's other patrons turned to watch the scene, amusement twinkling in their eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

Tamara shot to her feet, tensing.

"I'm just hitting the head," Isaac tried.

"No." The man wrenched the holy water from his grasp and flung it across the room. "I mean, what do you think you're doing here?" Darkness swallowed up his pupils, and Tamara gasped. "I don't like hunters in my bar," he growled.

The waitress moved closer, and her eyes were black too. Behind the tall demon, Rosen stepped into view, his eyes darkening. The other four patrons rose to their feet. All demons.

The doors groaned at the hinges. Outside, Sam and Dean threw their weight against the double doors, desperately attempting to bust them open.

"Man, you really walked into the wrong place," Rosen taunted.

Tamara took in a shuddering breath, clutching Isaac's sleeve in terror.

"Hold on," said a waitress. "I like the girl."

"Wish I had me a girl like that," Rosen murmured. The other demons chuckled.

"I can think of about a thousand things I'd like to do to her," the waitress continued, smirking.

"You're not gonna lay one filthy finger on her!" Isaac snapped.

"I got something for you," one of the demons said, walking past Isaac. It lifted a jug of drain cleaner. It laid one hand on Isaac's shoulder. "Here. Have a drink on me, hm?" The demons broke out into raucous laughter.

"Isaac?" Tamara whimpered. A waitress demon gripped her by the arms, restraining her.

"On the house!" Rosen cried, grinning.

Isaac stared at the drain cleaner for only a moment longer, then tipped back the jug and began chugging the toxic liquid. It foamed around his mouth and soaked into his shirt, yet he continued to drink as if he were severely dehydrated.

"ISAAC!" Tamara screamed. Tears streamed down her face. "ISAAC, NO! BABY _PLEASE_!"

The seven demons roared with laughter.

When the bottle was empty, Isaac released it. Blood poured from his lips and nose, choking him, staining his clothes a deep red. Isaac swayed on his feet, gurgling, before collapsing into the puddle of drain cleaner and crimson blood. The demons made noises of disappointment.

Tamara sobbed.

"Oh, he's down!" Rosen exclaimed. His lips curved into a malicious grin. "Alright, honey. Your turn!"

 _CRASH!_

Bobby's car smashed into the bar, the back end demolishing the doors and knocking several demons to the ground. Wood splinters and chairs went flying, slamming into the walls with a deafening sound. Bobby lunged out of the front seat. He drenched the closest demon in holy water, causing the creature to hiss in pain and recoil. Sam followed soon after, swinging a flask of holy water and spraying the demons nearest to them. Once the path was clear, Sam grabbed Tamara. He started to drag her back to the car. Tamara shrieked and struggled, desperate to reach her husband.

"Come on! We gotta go!" Sam shouted over the ruckus. "He's dead! Get in the car!" Dean and Bobby warded off the demons while Sam forced a panicking Tamara into the back seat. As Bobby jumped into the front seat, Sam beckoned sharply at his brother. "Dean, come on!"

Dean flung open the trunk. He tried to splash more holy water on his attacker, Rosen, but he came up empty. Rosen gave a dangerous chuckle and darted towards Dean. The hunter let his instincts take over, elbowing Rosen in the gut and deflecting his blow. Dean followed his momentum and tossed the thrashing demon in the trunk, then slammed the door. He ran around the side and threw himself into the passenger seat.

Bobby stomped on the gas, and they raced away from the bar.

* * *

~ _Tamara's House_ ~

"...and I say we're going back, now!"

"Hold on a second," said Sam.

"I left my husband bloody on the floor!" Tamara cried.

"Okay, I understand that, but we can't go back."

"Fine, then you stay." Tamara jabbed a finger at Sam. "But I'm heading back to that bar."

"I'll go with her," Dean added.

"It's suicide, Dean," Sam snapped.

"So what? I'm dead already."

Sam paused. His face twisted into an unreadable expression. "How you gonna kill them? Can't shoot them. You can't stab them. They're not just gonna wait in line to get exorcised!"

" _I don't care_!" Tamara shrieked, her voice anguished.

"We don't even know how many of them there are!"

"Yeah we do," Bobby intervened. In his hands, he held a dusty book of lore. "There's seven. Do you have any idea of who we're up against?"

Dean frowned. "No. Who?"

"The seven deadly sins, live and in the flesh!"

Huffing in disbelief, Dean joked, "'What's in the box?!'"

Everyone stared at him.

"Brad Pitt? 'Se7en'?" he tried. "No?" Bobby slammed the book shut and tossed it at Dean, who flinched. "What's this?"

"'Binsfeld's Classification of Demons'," Bobby explained. "In 1589, Binsfeld I.D'd the seven sins - not just as human vices, but as actual devils."

"The family," Sam realized. "They were touched by sloth. And the shopper-"

"That's envy's doing," Bobby finished. His voice was steadily rising in volume as the sheer weight of their problem became evident. "The customer we got in the next room. I couldn't suss it out at first until Isaac. He was touched with an awful gluttony."

"I don't give a rat's ass if they're the three stooges or the four tops!" Tamara snarled. "I'm gonna slaughter every last one of them!"

"We already did it your way," Bobby countered. Tamara balked under the intensity of the older man's glare. "You burst in there half-cocked and look what happened! These demons haven't been topside in half a millenium! We're talking medieval, dark ages. We've never faced anything close to this! So we are going to take a breath-" Bobby stepped closer to Tamara, as if he needed to make his point any clearer, "-and FIGURE OUT WHAT OUR NEXT MOVE IS!"

Tamara's lip wobbled, and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

Bobby breathed deeply, then spoke. "I am sorry for your loss."

Glancing between the brothers, and, finding no support, Tamara strode out of the room with quick, even steps. Bobby followed after her.

The brothers exchanged a look. They had never seen Bobby that angry before, not even when he banned their father from ever contacting him again. After a moment, they headed to the room where Envy was tied to a chair beneath a Devil's Trap.

A low, dark chuckle greeted them. Envy tilted his head in their direction. "So you know who I am, huh?"

"We do," Bobby replied. "We're not impressed."

"Why are you here? What are you after?" Sam asked.

Envy only watched them with curious eyes.

"He asked you a question," Dean said. He tossed the lore book onto a desk. "What do you want?"

Envy smiled. He seemed to be in disbelief as he laughed. It was a sharp, evil sound.

Dean unscrewed a flask and splashed the demon with holy water.

It steamed and burned his skin on contact, causing him to groan in pain. Envy bowed his head, panting, before answering, "We already have what we want."

"What's that?"

"We're out." Envy managed to sound matter-of-fact, despite the grimace he wore. "We're free. Thanks to you, my kind are everywhere. I am legion, for we are many. So me, I'm just celebrating. Having a little fun."

"Fun?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, fun," Envy hissed. "See, some people crochet. Others golf. Me? I like to see people's insides... on their outside."

"I'm gonna put you down like a dog," Tamara promised.

"Please." Envy wheezed a laugh. "You really think you're better than me. Which one you can cast the first stone, huh? What about you, Dean? You're practically a walking billboard of gluttony and lust. And Tamara-" Envy gave the female hunter a once-over, and seemed dissatisfied with what he found, "-all that wrath." He tutted a few times, like a scolding parent. "It's the reason you and Isaac became hunters in the first place, isn't it? It's so much easier to drink in the rage, than to face what really happened all those years ago."

Tamara punched him in the face. His head snapped back, and she punched him again before Bobby and Dean restrained her.

Envy looked back up, chortling. He wiggled his jaw and popped it back into place. "My point exactly. And you call _us_ sins. We're not sins, man! We are natural human instinct. And you can repress us and deny us all you want, but the truth is, you are just animals. Horny, greedy, hungry..." He laughed again, and his crystal blue eyes shone with feverish passion. "...violent animals. And you know what?" He leaned as far as he could, then widened his eyes as if he had a wild story to tell. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You'll be slaughtered like animals, too."

The hunters stared at him, casting one another worried looks at the demon's ominous words.

But Envy wasn't finished with his lengthy monologue. He relaxed into his chair. "The others - they're coming for me."

"Maybe," Dean said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile of his own. "But they're not gonna find you... cause you'll be in Hell." The smug look dropped off of Envy's face. "Someone send this clown packing."

"My pleasure," said Tamara, flipping open the lore book to a page on exorcisms. Envy watched the other hunters exit the room, growing panic evident on his features. Tamara smirked. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-_ "

Envy tipped back his head and screamed.

* * *

In the other room, the hunters stood in a circle, listening to Envy's shrill cries echo from nearby.

Bobby spoke in a low tone, "I don't think we're gonna have to worry about hunting them."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked.

"I think maybe this joker's right," Bobby replied, gesturing at the ceiling. "They're gonna be hunting _us_. And they're not gonna quit easy."

"You guys, why don't you take Tamara and head for the hills," Dean suggested. "I'll stay back, slow them down, buy you a little time."

"You're insane, Dean," Sam replied stiffly. "Just forget about it, okay?"

"Sam's right," Bobby agreed.

"There's six of them, guys." Dean sounded indignant, as if he had any right to argue with his family about committing suicide. "We're outmanned, we're outgunned. We'll be dead by dawn."

"Maybe, but there's no place to run that they won't find us." Bobby gave a little shrug.

"Look, if we're going down-" Sam sent his brother a pleading look, "-we're going down together, alright?"

Dean stared at them a few seconds, and, upon realizing this was a fight he could not win, he capitulated. "Let's not make it easy for them."

In the other room, a rush of wind and an echoing shriek told them Tamara had finished her exorcism. Tamara slammed the book closed and strode out of the room, chin held high and eyes fixed beyond the trio.

"Demon's out of the guy," she said.

"And the guy?" Sam prompted.

Tamara turned her back on them as she walked away. "He didn't make it."

* * *

Dean leaned against a wall, loading his gun. He cocked it, testing the mechanisms. On the other side of the room, Sam filled several flasks with holy water. The brothers worked in the flickering candlelight and silence.

At one point, both looked over at one another simultaneously. They shared a long look, filled with everything they didn't have a need to say. Dean's hand hovered over his gun, and Sam paused in filling the flask. The atmosphere was apprehensive, but not uncomfortable.

Suddenly, a radio buzzed to life, playing a station of blues guitar music. Sam and Dean both glanced towards it, then at each other once more. Dean cocked his rifle.

"Here we go," he announced.

The two approached the boarded-up windows, scanning the dark grounds for humanoid shapes in the night. Nothing.

" _I shall be, I shall not be moved_ ," the radio sang. " _Like a tree that's planted by the water, I shall not be moved..._ "

Bobby and Tamara hovered near the front doors. Tamara stared out the window intently, moonlight slanting over her dark, striking features. Her arms were folded, and she radiated hostility. She hadn't spoken since Envy's exorcism. Bobby caught her eye, and they exchanged an unspoken message: It's time.

Suddenly, a hoarse voice reached them from outside. "TAMARA!"

Tamara glanced back at Bobby, who shook his head subtly. Her face contorted into an expression of grief.

"TAMARA!" Isaac screamed below, arms held out wide and blood dripping down his chin, teeth gleaming crimson. "TAMARA! HELP ME! PLEASE!"

Tamara sucked in a breath, clenching her fists.

Isaac lurched forward, gripping the rails for support, wincing with every step. "Tamara! I got away, but I'm hurt bad! I need help!"

"It's not him," Bobby assured her. "It's one of those demons. It's possessing his corpse."

The door creaked under the weight of Isaac's blows as he pounded on the wood. "Baby! Why won't you let me in? You left me behind back there. How could you do that?"

Biting her lip, Tamara withheld a sob.

"We swore-" Isaac continued, laboring for every syllable, "-at that lake, in Michigan. Remember? We swore we would never leave each other!"

"How did he know that?" Tamara cried. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

"Steady, Tamara," whispered Bobby.

"You just gonna leave me out here?" Isaac moaned. "You just gonna let me die?!" His tone took on a sinister edge. "I guess that's what you do, dear. Like that night those things came to our house... came for our daughter. You just let her die, too."

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Tamara wailed. She tore herself from Bobby's grasp, despite his shouting, and ripped open the front doors, tackling the possessed Isaac to the ground and pinning him with her knees. "You're not Isaac," she snarled, and stabbed him in the chest with a stake of Palo Santo. He writhed beneath her, growling and spitting in rage and agony.

In her anguish, she broke the salt line.

The rest of the demons rose from their hiding places and flooded into the house, four of them prowling upstairs, while a larger one, presumably Sloth, locked Bobby with an evil stare. Bobby put on a frightened front, backing up against a wall while the demon moved towards him. Then, unable to walk any further, the demon pushed against an invisible barrier, confusion wrinkling it's brows.

Bobby led Sloth's gaze to the devil's trap on the ceiling. He smiled. "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son."

Upstairs, Dean jogged down the second floor, narrowly avoiding the she-demon that tried to grab him as he went by. He deflected her blow and backtracked. She smirked and stalked towards him. Below, a demon screamed as Bobby exorcised it.

Dean backed into an empty room as the black-eyed girl advanced. He noticed the blonde curls bouncing over her shoulder, her puckered, rosy lips. Everything about her was delightfully irresistible.

"I suppose you're Lust," Dean guessed.

"Baby, I'm whatever you want me to be," Lust purred.

"Just stay back," Dean warned.

"Or what?" Lust tilted her head, smiling faintly, seductively.

"...good point."

"I'm not gonna hurt you- not yet," Lust promised. She crossed the distance between them, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. "Not unless you want me to."

Dean closed the gap and kissed her.

Above, Sam scrambled back as the door crashed open, showering him in wood chips and revealing a trio of demons.

The lead one grinned ravenously. "Here's Johnny!"

Sam gave an imperceptible sigh. Nice to know demons still have a sense of humor. They approached him, until the lead demon raised his hand, and the others paused. He looked up at the Devil's Trap on the ceiling.

"Come on," he sighed, eyes pooling into inky blackness. "You really think something like that is gonna fool someone like me? I mean, _me_?"

"Let me guess- you're Pride."

Pride smiled. He raised one hand in a flourish, and a crack arced through the ceiling, breaking the Devil's Trap. "The root of all sin," he said, an smug, infuriating look still dominating his features. "And you... are Sam Winchester. That's right. I've heard of you. We've _all_ heard of you. The prodigy; the boy king. Looking at you now, I gotta tell you, don't believe the hype."

Sam narrowed his eyes into a glare.

Pride paused, a dark expression crossing his face. "You think I'm gonna bow to a cut-rate, piss-poor human like you? I have my _pride_ , after all. And now with your yellow-eyed friend dead, I guess I don't really have to do a damn thing, now do I? You're fair game now, boy. And it's open season."

Dean and Lust kissed passionately, while Dean backed up slowly until he reached a pair of curtains. He broke away from her and, using his momentum, plunged her face-first into a tub of holy water. Lust screamed, the noise muffled by the water. Dean yanked her back out, letting her gasp in a lungful of air, then mercilessly dipped her back in again.

Sam hit the ground. Pride grabbed him by the shoulders and wrapped an arm around his throat, restricting his air. Sam choked and spluttered, clawing at the demon's arm while the trio cackled.

Then-

A girl emerged from the shadows, wielding a serrated knife the likes of which Sam had never seen before. She slit the first demon's throat, and orange light crackled in the wound before the demon collapsed, dead. She lunged forward and stabbed the second in the chest. Light flickered behind her eyes and lips as the demon tipped back her head in a soundless cry. Pride, seeing the massacre, released Sam and grabbed the girl, but Sam managed to distract Pride for just an instant, long enough for the girl to stab him beneath his chin. When she yanked the knife out, it was steaming.

Sam panted heavily, staring at his mysterious savior. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"I'm the girl that just saved your ass," she replied.

"Well, I just saved yours too."

The girl huffed a laugh. "See you around, Sam."

"Wait!"

But when he turned the corner, she was gone.

* * *

~ _The next morning_ ~

The early morning sun sent everyone into a contemplative mood. Three dead demons were laid out in a grave, blood staining their clothes where they'd been stabbed. Sam and Dean carefully lowered the last one into the dirt. They poured salt and gasoline over the corpses, then looked up across the field, where Tamara was standing vigil by Isaac's burning shroud.

"Think she's gonna be alright?" Sam wondered aloud.

"No," Dean said. "Definitely not."

Bobby trudged over to them, looking tired and grim.

"Well you looked like hell warmed over," Dean commented.

"You try exorcising all night and see how you feel," Bobby retorted.

"Any survivors, Bobby?" Sam asked.

"Well, the pretty girl, and the heavy guy, they'll make it." Bobby sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Lifetime of therapy bills ahead, but still..."

"That's more than you can say for these poor bastards," Dean said, referencing the three bodies in the grave.

"Bobby, that knife-" Sam cast Bobby a worried look, "What kind of blade can kill a demon?"

"Yesterday, I would have said there was no such thing."

"I'm just gonna ask it again- who was that masked chick?" Dean questioned, turning towards his brother with an eyebrow raised. "Actually, the more troubling question would be 'how come a girl can fight better than you?'"

"Three demons, Dean," Sam argued weakly. "At once."

Dean scoffed, then smiled. "Hey, whatever it takes to get you through the night, pal."

"Well, if you want a troubling question," Sam continued, ignoring Dean's comment. "I got one for you."

"What's that?"

"If we let out the seven deadly sins," Sam said, sobering. "What else did we let out?"

"You're right. That _is_ troubling." And with that, Dean struck a match and tossed it into the grave, the trio solemnly watching the blazing fire claw at the sky.

* * *

"See you gents around," said Tamara, hoisting a bag over her shoulder. She began to walk away, but Bobby's voice stopped her.

"Tamara?"

She glanced back.

"The world just got a lot scarier," Bobby said. "Be careful."

"You too," she replied, with a finality that sounded much more ominous than it should have. With that, she got in her car, started the engine, and drove away.

"Keep your eyes peeled for omens," Bobby told them, once Tamara was gone. "I'll do the same."

"You got it," said Dean.

"Wait, Bobby," Sam called, when Bobby began to head off. His question was loaded, and pleading, a boy seeking assurance from the only father figure in his life. "We can win this war, right?"

Bobby's silence told him everything he needed to know. The older man sighed. "Catch you on the next one." And then he, too, was gone.

"So, where to?" Dean asked. He rubbed his hands together expectantly.

"Uh, I don't know." Sam shrugged. "I was thinking Louisiana, maybe."

"Little early for Mardi Gras, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Listen, I was talking to Tamara, and she mentioned this hoodoo priestess outside of Shreveport that might be able to help us out, you know, with your- with your demon deal."

Dean made a face. "Nah.

"'Nah'?" Sam scowled. "What does that mean, 'Nah'?"

"Sam, no hoodoo spell is gonna break this deal. It's a goose chase."

"We don't know that," Sam tried.

"Yes, we do," Dean replied. "Forget it. She can't help."

"Look, it's worth a-"

"We're not going, and that's that," Dean said sharply. His demeanor shifted to a relaxed disposition in an instant. "What about Reno, huh?" He patted Sam's arm and began to stride off.

Sam caught his arm. His tone reflected his frustration. "You know what? I've had it. I've been bending over backwards trying to be nice to you, and... I don't care anymore."

"That didn't last long."

"Yeah, well you know what? I've been busting my ass trying to keep you alive, Dean, and you act like you couldn't care less. What, you got some kind of death wish or something?"

"It's not like that," Dean said.

"Then what's it like, Dean?"

"Sam-"

"Please, tell me."

Sam said it with a sarcastic undertone, but Dean understood the true desire for understanding beneath it. Dean met his brother's eyes. "We trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to welsh our way our way out of the deal in any way, you die, okay? You die. Those are the terms, there's no way out of it. If you try to find a way, so help me God, I'm gonna stop you."

Shoulders slumping, Sam let out a heavy sigh. "How could you make that deal, Dean?"

"Cause I couldn't live with you dead." Dean shook his head. "Couldn't do it."

"So what, now I live and you die?"

"That's the general idea, yeah."

"Yeah, well, you're a hypocrite, Dean," Sam snapped, as Dean began to head back to their car. He walked around in front to force his older brother to look him in the eye. "How did you feel when Dad sold his soul for you? Cause I was there. I remember. You were twisted, and broken. And now you go and do the same thing to me. What you did was selfish."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agreed. "It _was_ selfish. But I'm okay with that."

"I'm not."

"Tough. After everything I've done for this family, I think I'm entitled." Dean's lips curled in a exhausted copy of a smile. "Truth is, I'm tired, Sam. I don't know, it's like there's a light at the end of the tunnel."

"It's hellfire, Dean," Sam replied stiffly.

"Whatever. You're alive, I feel good, for the first time in a long time. I got a year to live, Sam. I'd like to make the most of it." Dean wiggled his eyebrows. "So what do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell, huh?"

Sam allowed a bit of humor to color his tone. "You're unbelievable."

Dean hovered in front of the Impala door, fingering his keys, and grinned. "Very true."

Then the two brothers drove off, down the well-worn road to an uncertain future, with only each other to keep them company.


	5. 4x1 - Lazarus Rising

_Darkness. Bright flashes of searing white light punctured the gloom, accompanied with intermittent screams. Piercing shrieks echoed through Hell, so high pitched one might have mistaken them for something inhuman._

 _Then-_

Dean Winchester opened his eyes to darkness. He took in a shuddering gasp and began coughing violently. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment and clicked his lighter. A single tuft of orange flame flickered to life, revealing the tiny space Dean was resting in.

It was a coffin.

He had a restricted area to move, and his arms kept bumping the wooden insides. The ceiling was too close for comfort, causing his claustrophobia to kick in.

"He-elp," Dean croaked. His voice was hoarse and raspy from disuse. "Help!" He coughed, attempting to clear his throat. "Help!" Panting, he began to bang on the wood above him, straining to escape the tiny box from which he had awoken. He gripped the side of the lid and pushed.

Dirt tumbled into the box, filling it up to the top, extinguishing his light and plunging him into darkness once more. Quiet.

His hand broke the surface, clawing at the dry grass as he dragged himself into the sunlight, sucking in a lungful of precious air. Groaning, he climbed out of the grave and collapsed. He flopped onto his back, breathing heavily and wincing as the sun hurt his sensitive eyes. A wooden cross marked the place he'd been buried. The sky was a beautiful, baby blue.

He staggered to his feet and gaped.

In a massive ring radiating from his grave, all the nearby trees were toppled over and uprooted from the ground, bark scorched and still smoldering. A hundred trees, at least, had fallen. Only a small circle of earth where his grave resided was untouched.

* * *

The day was hot. Dean walked along a gravel road, flannel tied around his waist. Eventually, he stumbled upon a small gas station, at which only one car was parked. He stepped up to the front door, where the sign was flipped to the 'CLOSED' side. He banged on the wood.

"Hello?"

Sighing, he bundled up one hand in his flannel, and broke the window.

The fridge held a wonderful package of water bottles, and Dean had never seen anything so amazing. He grabbed a bottle and tipped it back, draining half of it in only a second.

He walked over to a stack of newspapers and checked the date.

 **Thursday, September 18, 2008**

"September…?" he whispered, confused.

When he managed to find a sink, he turned on the faucet and scrubbed the grime from his face, relishing the feeling of water on his skin. He patted his face dry and stared at himself in the mirror. Frowning, he pulled his shirt up. No wounds from the hellhound, not even a scar. He dropped his shirt. Feeling a new twinge of pain suddenly, he angled himself to the left and shrugged back his sleeve.

Burned into his skin was a bright red handprint.

He winced at the sight, staring at it in bewilderment. He didn't remember getting that.

He discovered the plastic sacks easily enough, and began stocking one with supplies. He dumped in matches, food, anything of use he could find. He also buried a magazine inside, the contents of which were too embarrassing to describe. He set down the sack and fiddled with the cash register for a moment, grinning when it sprung open. Coins jingled as he stuffed his pockets with dollar bills. Then, suddenly, the TV flickered on, playing a channel of only static. Thinking it may have been an accident, Dean turned it off.

The radio buzzed to life. Faint country music echoed around the store. Dean moved towards it, but behind him, the TV turned on once more. A low ringing sound accompanied the two haywire electronics.

Now, worried about the presence of demons, Dean grabbed a can of salt and began to line the windows. The ringing intensified, causing Dean to grimace and cover his ears. He fell to one knee, groaning at the terrible sound as the window blew out, showering him with glass. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled a few inches, but the force of all the windows shattering at once sent him to the ground, curled up in the ocean of glass shards.

Abruptly, the sound cut off.

Mouth hanging open, Dean got to his feet, skin covered in little red cuts and hair glinting with glass. Every single window was broken. Dean knew the store owner would not be pleased.

* * *

Outside, he found a phone booth and dialed Sam's number.

" _We're sorry_ ," a woman's automated voice told him. " _You have reached a number that has been disconnected_." Dean sighed.

Next, he tried Bobby.

" _Yeah?_ " the older man answered.

"Bobby?" Dean said eagerly. "It's me."

" _Who's 'me'_?"

"Dean."

 _Click_. Bobby hung up.

Dean slid some more coins into the slot, frustrated now, and called again.

" _Who is this_?"

"Bobby, listen to me-" Dean started.

" _This ain't funny. Call again and I'll kill you_."

 _Click._

Dean reluctantly put the phone down. He wheeled around, wondering what the hell he was going to do now, when he caught sight of the single car parked in the gravel.

The engine sputtered as he fiddled with some wires, bent over in the front seat.

"Come on, come on," Dean mumbled.

The car rumbled to life. Dean grinned.

* * *

Knock knock knock.

Bobby swung open the door. The corner of Dean's lip quirked into a relieved smile at finally seeing a familiar face. Bobby stared at him in shock.

"Surprise," Dean said.

"I don't…" Bobby whispered, bewildered.

"Yeah, me neither," Dean said, stepping into the house. He glanced around the house, noticing it was exactly how it was when he left. "But here I am."

Gritting his teeth, Bobby swung a silver knife at Dean. The younger blocked it and twisted it away from himself, but Bobby whirled around, preparing for another blow.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled, stumbling back several feet. "It's me!"

"My ass," Bobby growled, storming forward.

Dean shoved a chair in front of him to ward off the other. "Woah, woah, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed. You're about the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby… it's me."

Bobby stared at him with grief-stricken eyes, pushing the chair to the side as if to get a better look at him. He moved forward, touching Dean's shoulder with one hand, then jabbed the knife at him once more.

Dean spun him around and held his arm behind his back. "I am not a shapeshifter!" he grunted.

"Then you're a revenant!" Bobby cried.

Dean shoved Bobby away several feet, revealing that he now held the knife. "Alright. If I was either, would I do this with a silver knife?" He yanked back his sleeve and pressed the knife to his skin, hissing at the pain.

Bobby watched him, the hostility fading from his expression as he saw blood track down Dean's arm. "Dean?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Dean muttered.

Pausing for only a moment, Bobby lunged forward and embraced Dean tightly, taking in a shuddering breath. Dean leaned into his surrogate father's hug.

When he pulled back, Bobby's eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "It's- It's good to see you, boy."

"Yeah, you too."

"But… how did you bust out?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I just, uh... just woke up in a pine bo-"

Bobby doused him with holy water.

Dean blinked a few times, irritated, then spat out some water. "I'm not a demon either, you know."

"Sorry," Bobby apologized. "Can't be too careful."

* * *

"That don't make a lick of sense," Bobby said, as the two stepped into the living room.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're preaching to the choir," Dean agreed, drying his face with a towel.

"Dean, your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop, and you'd been buried four months. Even if you _could_ slip out of Hell and back into your meats-"

"I know. I should look like a 'Thriller' video reject."

"What do you remember?"

"Not much," Dean replied, shaking his head. "I remember I was a hellhound's chew toy... and then lights-out. Then I come to six feet under and that was it."

Bobby slowly lowered himself into a cushioned seat.

"Sam's number's not working," Dean said. "He's uh- he's not-"

"Oh, he's alive, as far as I know," Bobby assured him.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Wait, what do you mean, as far as you know?"

"I haven't talked to him for months."

"You're kidding?" Dean snapped. "You just let him go off by himself?"

"He was dead set on it," Bobby sighed.

"Bobby, you should have been looking after him."

"I tried," Bobby protested, looking indignant. "These last months haven't been exactly easy, you know, for him or me. We had to bury you."

"Why did you bury me, anyway?" Dean asked.

"I wanted you salted and burned-" said Bobby, "-usual drill, but Sam wouldn't have it."

"Well, I'm glad he won that one." Dean chuckled.

"He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow," Bobby continued. "That's about all he said."

"What do you mean?"

"He was quiet... real quiet. Then, he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he don't want to be found."

"Oh, dammit Sammy," Dean groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"Oh, he got me home okay," Dean muttered. "But whatever he did, it is bad mojo."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You should've seen the grave site," Dean said darkly. "It was like a nuke went off. Then there was this force, this presence, that, I dunno, but it- it blew past me at a fill-up joint. And then this." He shrugged off his jacket and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the blistered handprint.

"What in the hell?" Bobby whispered.

"Yeah, it's like a demon just yanked me out or rode me out," Dean replied.

"But why?"

"To hold up their end of the bargain."

"You think Sam made a deal," Bobby realized.

"It's what I would have done." The 'it's what I did' went unspoken.

Later, Dean called a number that could help them find Sam. "Yeah, hi, I have a cell phone account with you guys and uh, lost my phone. I was wondering if you could turn the GPS on for me. Yeah, the name is Wedge Antilles. Social is 2474. Thank you." He hung up.

"How'd you know he'd use that name?" Bobby asked.

"You kidding me? What don't I know about that kid?" Dean sat down at a computer and found the company's website. "Hey, Bobby. What's the deal with the liquor store, hm?" He held up a drained glass bottle. "Your parents out of town or something?"

"Like I said," Bobby muttered. "The last few months ain't been all that easy."

Dean stared at him for a long moment. "Right." The laptop dinged, and he leaned close to see Sam's location. He scoffed. "Sam's in Pontiac, Illinois."

"Right near where you were planted," Bobby said.

"Right where I popped up," Dean agreed. He gave Bobby a look. "Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?"

* * *

~ _Pontiac, Illinois: Astoria Motel_ ~

Dean and Bobby walked up to Sam's supposed room. Room 207. Dean braced himself, then knocked on the wood.

The door swung open, revealing a girl with sleek black hair that tumbled down her shoulders. An odd look crossed her face, but she recovered so quickly Dean could've sworn he imagined it. "So, where is it?" she asked.

"Where's what?" Dean questioned, confused.

"The pizza that takes two guys to deliver," the girl replied, scowling.

"I think we got the wrong room," Dean said apologetically.

"Hey, is-" Sam stepped around the corner and stopped short. He locked eyes with Dean.

After a lengthy pause, Dean cracked a hesitant smile. "Heya, Sammy." He pushed past the girl, who frowned at him, and moved towards his brother.

Sam whipped out a knife and lunged at him, pinning Dean against the wall. The girl let out a shriek. He almost buried the weapon in Dean's chest, shouting, "Who are you?!" before Bobby managed to restrain him.

"Like you didn't do this?" Dean retorted harshly.

"Do what?" Sam snarled, struggling against Bobby's hold.

"It's him, it's him, Sam," Bobby soothed. "I've been through this already. It's really him."

Sam relaxed, staring at Dean in mute shock. "But..."

"I know," said Dean, taking a step forward. He cracked a grin. "I look fantastic, huh?"

Lips trembling on the verge of a smile, Sam embraced Dean, burying his face in his older brother's shoulder. Sam took in a shuddering breath, and Dean held him tighter. When Sam pulled back, he gazed at Dean for a long moment.

"So, are you two like... together?" the girl questioned, hovering by the door.

"What?" Sam blinked. "No. No. He's my brother."

"O-Oh," the girl said. "Got it, I-I guess. Look, I should probably go."

"Yeah, yeah, that's probably a good idea," Sam agreed quickly. "Sorry."

When she had gathered her stuff and gotten dressed, Sam held the door open for her.

She glanced back at him and smiled. "So, call me."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure thing, Kathy."

"Christie," the girl corrected, smile fading.

"Right."

The girl forced a smile as Sam shut the door.

Dean was leaning against the wall when Sam stepped back inside, lips pressed together. Sam sat down, bracing himself for a scolding, despite the fact he didn't do anything.

"So tell me," Dean started, "what'd it cost?"

Sam looked up from tying his shoes. "The girl?" He chuckled. "I don't pay, Dean."

"That's not funny, Sam," Dean snapped. "To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?"

"You think I made a deal?"

"That's exactly what we think," Bobby piped up.

"Well, I didn't." Sam scowled at the accusation and looked down at his shoes.

"Don't lie to me," Dean said.

Sam glanced up at Dean, looking scandalized and hurt. "I'm not lying."

"So what now?" Dean continued, despite Sam's retort. He pushed off of the desk and stepped forward. "I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch boy? I didn't want to be saved like this."

"Look, Dean," Sam snarled, shooting to his feet. "I wish I had done it, alright?"

Dean grabbed Sam by his collar, furious. "There's no other way that this could have gone down. Now tell the truth!"

"I tried everything," Sam replied sharply, shoving Dean's hands away from him. "That's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, alright? You were rotting in Hell for months - for _months_ , and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, alright?" His voice broke. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said after a moment, seeing the anguish on his brother's face. "You don't have to apologize. I believe you."

A pause.

"Don't get me wrong," Bobby said. "I am gladdened that Sam's soul remains intact, but that does raise a sticky question."

"If he didn't pull me out, then what did?" Dean finished solemnly.

* * *

Later...

Dean and Bobby now sat beside each other on the motel couch. Sam fetched a few beers and passed them around, then sat down across from them.

"So what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out of my grave?" Dean asked, cracking open his drink.

"Well, once I figured out I couldn't save you, um... I started hunting down Lilith." Sam fixed his gaze on his own drink. "Trying to get some payback."

"All by yourself?" Bobby questioned. "Who do you think you are, your old man?"

"Uh…" Sam huffed. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Bobby. I-I should have called. I was pretty messed up."

Dean walked across the room and lifted a bra, one eyebrow raised. "Oh, yeah. I really feel your pain."

Sam sighed. Dean sat down next to him. "Anyways, uh, I was checking these demons out of Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a hard left, booked up here."

"When?" Dean asked.

"Yesterday morning."

"When I busted out," Dean realized.

"You think these demons are here 'cause of you?" Bobby wondered aloud, meeting Dean's gaze.

"But why?" Sam asked.

"Well, I don't know," Dean muttered. "Some badass demon drags me out and now this? It's gotta be connected somehow."

"How you feeling, anyway?" Bobby asked him, frowning.

Dean blinked. "I'm a little hungry."

"No, I mean, do you feel like yourself?" Bobby clarified. "Anything strange or different?"

"Or demonic?" Dean added, curling his lip. "Bobby, how many times do I have to prove I'm me?"

"Yeah, well listen. No demons letting you loose out of the goodness of their hearts. They gotta have something nasty planned."

"Well, I feel fine."

"Okay, look, we don't know what they're planning," Sam interjected. "We got a pile of questions and no shovel. We need help."

"I know a psychic a few hours from here," Bobby supplied, looking contemplative. "Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking."

Dean perked up. "Hell yeah. It's worth a shot."

"I'll be right back." Bobby rose from the couch and headed out. Dean moved to follow him.

"Wait," Sam said. He stood up. "You probably want this back." He reached up and took the amulet necklace from around his neck, then handed it to Dean.

The elder hunter stared at it in his palm. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Dean looped the cord around his own neck.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. He shifted his weight. "What was it like?"

"What? Hell?" He locked eyes with Sam. "I don't know. I-I-I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing."

Sam nodded slightly. "Thank God for that."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. Later that night, he flicked on the light in the bathroom and stared at himself in the grimy mirror. He knew nothing good would come of it, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Sam about his memories of Hell. Even now, they haunted the back of his mind.

Shrill screams, echoing cries, and bright, pulsing light amidst the darkness.

He blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to turn black.

It never happened.

* * *

"She's about four hours down the interstate," Bobby told them as they left the motel. His keys jingled as he approached his car. "Try to keep up."

"I assume you'll want to drive," Sam said. He found the Impala's keys and tossed them to Dean, who laughed as he caught them.

"I almost forgot." Dean circled around the back of the car, grinning. "Hey sweetheart, did you miss me?" He opened the door and jumped inside, staring in wonder at the wheel and stereo. His eyes found a little white device hooked up to the car, and he frowned.

"What the hell is that?" Dean questioned, glaring at Sam.

"That's an iPod jack," Sam replied.

"You're supposed to take care of her, not douche her up," Dean told him.

Sam scoffed. "Dean, I thought it was my car."

Dean gave him a look, then jammed the keys in and started the car. The radio kicked up and began blaring music. " _You're the only one for me~_ "

"Really?" Dean muttered, eyes narrowed.

Shrugging, Sam tilted his head and gazed at him innocently. Dean turned the music off as he flung the iPod into the backseat.

"There's still one thing that's bothering me," Dean said as they drove.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, the night that I bit it - or got bit." He chuckled. "How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was gonna kill you."

"Well, she tried," Sam admitted. "She couldn't."

"What do you mean 'she couldn't'?"

"She fired this like, burning light at me, and... it didn't leave a scratch, like I was immune or something."

"Immune?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a faint laugh. "I don't know who was more surprised - her, or me. She left pretty fast after that."

"Huh. What about Ruby? Where is she?"

"Dead or in Hell," Sam replied shortly.

"So you been using your, uh, freaky E.S.P. stuff?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Sure about that? Ah, well, I mean, now that you got immunity- whatever the hell that is- just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you got going on."

"Nothing, Dean," Sam denied. "Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish."

Dean watched him for a few more moments, then looked back out at the street ahead. "Yeah, well, let's keep it that way."

* * *

 _Knock knock knock._

The front door of a neat white house swung open to reveal a bright-eyed young woman. She wore a tanktop and a blue necklace, her curly black hair tumbling over her shoulders. She laughed merrily when he saw Bobby.

"Bobby!" She hugged him.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Bobby said, smiling.

She leaned back and crossed her arms, giving the brothers a once over. "So, are these the boys?"

"Sam, Dean," Bobby introduced. "Pamela Barnes. Best damn psychic in the state."

Pamela smirked at the praise. Her glittery green eyes scanned the length of Dean's body before resting on his face. The brothers greeted her.

"Mm, mm, mm," Pamela hummed, glancing over at Bobby. He gave her a look, and she chuckled. "Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back in the frying pan, huh? Makes you a rare individual."

"If you say so," Dean replied.

Her eyebrows flicked up for a moment. She stepped back to allow the group inside the house. "Come on in."

"So, you hear anything?" Bobby asked.

"Well, I ouija-ed my way through a dozen spirits," Pamela said, closing the door. "No one seems to know who broke your boy out or why."

"What's next?"

"A SéAnce, I think. See if we can see who did the deed."

"You're not gonna summon the damn thing here?" Bobby asked, looking apprehensive.

"No," Pamela assured them, moving past Bobby. "I just wanna get a sneak peek at it, like a crystal ball without the crystal."

"I'm game," Dean said, following after Pamela.

In the main room, Pamela whipped a black cloth over a table. It had a strange design drawn on it, similar to a Devil's Trap, but not quite. She bent down to grab something from a lower shelf, and Dean spotted a tattoo inked into her lower back.

 **~ Jesse Forever ~**

"Who's Jesse?" Dean asked.

From the floor, Pamela laughed. It was a sharp, ringing sound, but still managed to be gentle. "Well, it wasn't forever."

"His loss," Dean said.

As Pamela straightened, clutching a bundle of candles, she grinned at him and stepped closer. "Might be your gain." She smirked at him and moved on.

Dean wheeled around, as did Sam, and exhaled. "Dude, I'm so in."

"Yeah, she's gonna eat you alive," Sam told him.

"Hey, I just came out of jail. Bring it."

"You're invited too, grumpy," Pamela said, walking past Sam, who's eyes went comically wide.

"You are not invited," Dean said, poking a finger at his brother as soon as she was gone.

When the SéAnce was ready, Pamela dimmed the lights, and everyone took a seat around the table. Five candles clustered in the center.

"Take each other's hands," Pamela instructed. As everyone did so, she reached under the table and added, "I need to touch something our mystery monster touched."

Dean jumped. "Whoa! Well, he didn't touch me _there_." He glanced over at Sam, expression helpless.

Pamela chuckled. "My mistake."

Clearing his throat, Dean shrugged off his jacket and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the red handprint. It had faded somewhat, but the raised and blistered lines were still distinct. Sam stared at it.

Pamela extended her free hand and laid it over the burn. "Okay." She closed her eyes. "I invoke, conjure, command you - appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, command you - appear unto me before this circle." Dean cracked one eye open and watched her skeptically. She repeated the phrase again, and behind her, a TV flickered to life, showing a static screen. A high pitched ringing began to fill the room. She cut off abruptly, eyebrows pinched together. "Castiel?"

Dean looked up. The name was familiar.

"No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy."

"Castiel?" Dean asked, eyes wide.

"Its name," Pamela explained. "It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back. I conjure and command you - show me your face. I conjure and command you - show me your face."

The candles began to rattle on the table as an eerie wind swept through the room, somehow not extinguishing the flames. The ringing intensified, and Dean winced. Pamela continued to chant, ignoring outside interferences.

"Maybe we should stop," Bobby interrupted, staring nervously at the numerous trembling items filling the room.

"I almost got it!" Pamela refuted swiftly. She picked up her mantra once more, volume and tension rising together. "Show me your face now!"

The candles exploded into tall plumes of white-hot fire, arcing upwards as if someone had doused them in gasoline. Pamela screamed as her eyes lit up with the same flames, scorching her sockets as rivulets of blood poured down her cheeks. The fire went out, and she collapsed to the ground. The candles reduced to their original size.

"Call 911!" Bobby cried. Sam lunged out of his seat to follow his instructions, while Dean darted to Pamela's side.

"Yes, we have an emergency," Sam told the operator quickly.

Bobby lifted Pamela's head. Her eyes were ruined, nothing but burned and bloody flesh. She gasped in pain and released an agonized moan.

"I can't see," she sobbed brokenly. "I can't see! Oh, god. God, no..."

* * *

 _~ Johnny Mac's Diner ~_

"Be up in a jiff," a waitress told Dean, jotting down his order. As she walked away, Sam slid into the seat across from his brother.

"What'd Bobby say?" Dean asked.

"Pam's stable and out of ICU," Sam replied, sighing.

"And blind, cause of us," Dean added, a scowl on his face.

"And we still have no clue what we're dealing with."

"That's not entirely true," Dean refuted.

"No?" Sam tilted his head.

"We got a name," Dean explained. "Castiel, or whatever. With the right mumbo jumbo, we could summon him, bring him right to us."

"You're crazy," Sam told him. "Absolutely not."

"We'll work him out," Dean continued, "I mean, after what he did?"

"Pam took a peek at him and her eyes burned out of her skull, and you wanna have a face-to-face?"

"You got a better idea?"

"Yeah. As a matter-of-fact, I do. I followed some demons to town, right?"

"Okay?"

"So, we go find them." Sam leaned back in his chair. "Someone's got to know something about something."

The waitress stopped by their table and set two plates down in front of them. Sam thanked her. Then she pulled out a chair and sat down with them.

"You angling for a tip?" Dean asked her.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were looking for us." Her eyes flickered to black. The Winchesters blanched.

All around the diner, demons began to rise from their seats. One walked over to the door and locked it.

"Dean…" the waitress said, her eyes now back to their normal color. "... to Hell and back. Aren't you a lucky duck?"

"That's me," said Dean.

"So you get to just stroll out of the Pit, huh?" Her expression turned malicious as she glared at him. "Tell me, what makes _you_ so special?"

"I like to think it's because of my perky nipples," Dean replied, the corner of his lip quirking up. When the waitress just stared at him, he said seriously, "I don't know. It wasn't my doing. I don't know who pulled me out."

"Right," the waitress muttered. "You don't."

"No, I don't," Dean agreed.

"Lying's a sin, you know."

Dean's eyebrows pinched together. "I'm not lying." Her piercing gaze turned to Sam, who narrowed his eyes at her. "But I'd like to find out. So if you wouldn't mind enlightening me, Flo."

"Mind your tone with me, boy," the waitress reprimanded. "I'll drag you back to Hell myself."

Sam's chair scraped against the ground as he started to stand up. Dean gave him a look, and he settled back in his seat, scowling. The waitress blinked a few times at him.

"No, you won't," Dean said.

"No?"

"No. Cause if you were, you'd have done it already." Dean's words sped up as he figured everything out. "The fact is, you don't know who cut me loose. And you're just as spooked as we are. And you're looking for answers. Well, maybe it was some turbocharged spirit, hm? Or uh, Godzilla." He smirked. "Or, some big bad boss demon. But I'm guessing at your pay grade they don't tell you squat. Cause whoever it was, they _want_ me out, and they're a lot stronger than you. So go ahead. Send me back. But don't come crawling to me when they show up on your front doorstep with some vaseline and a fire hose."

"I'm gonna reach down your throat and rip out your lungs," she snarled harshly.

Dean leaned close, a smile tugging at his lips, and punched her across the face. As soon as she glanced back, he punched her again. She only straightened, her stare like daggers as she glared at him, but she didn't take any action.

"That's what I thought," Dean said. He never took his eyes off the demon. "Let's go, Sam." The two stood, and before he walked off, Dean dropped a ten dollar bill on the table. "For the pie," he told her. As soon as they exited the diner, the door clanging shut behind them, Dean's shoulders slumped and he exhaled in relief. "Holy crap, that was close."

"We're not just gonna leave them in there, are we?" Sam asked.

"Well, yeah," Dean replied. "There's three of them, probably more. We only got one knife between us."

"I've been killing a lot more demons than that recently," Sam said.

"Not anymore. The smarter brother's back in town.

"Dean, we gotta take them. They're dangerous," Sam argued, scowling from the slight at his ability.

"They're scared, okay?" Dean said. "Scared of whatever had the juice to yank me out. We're dealing with a bad mofo here. One job at a time."

At 12:30 that night, as Dean slept on the motel couch, his mouth agape and pendant resting on his chest, Sam eased the door open and slipped out into the hallway. He jammed the keys into the Impala and drove off.

Meanwhile, a low ringing began to fill the motel room. The TV flickered on, casting shadows over the furniture, and the radio tuned of its own accord. Dean blinked blearily and rubbed his eyes. Noticing the haywire electronics, he was awake and alert in a second. He turned over and grabbed his shotgun, jumping to his feet. The bed beside his was empty, the blankets strewn about messily, and Sam was missing.

Dean aimed his gun at the door. He didn't know what he expected to see, but he was prepared.

Abruptly, the ringing heightened to a piercing whine, causing Dean to drop his weapon and clap his hands over his ears. Behind him, the mirror cracked. He fell to his knees, groaning, as the windows started to shatter around him, blown inwards by an invisible force. Glass showered the room. The curtains went flying. He managed to lunge to the side, right before the chandelier collapsed, breaking into millions of shards. Dean cried out in pain. The ringing persisted. The door crashed open, and Bobby went tumbling inside, landing on a pile of glass.

"Dean!" Bobby shouted.

The sound cut off.

Blood trickled from Dean's ears.

* * *

"How you doing, kid?" Bobby asked. They now drove in his car, once they found the Impala gone.

"Aside from the church bells ringing in my head…" Dean grimaced. "Peachy." He flipped open his phone and called Sam.

" _Hey_."

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded.

" _Couldn't sleep. Went to get a burger_."

"In my car?"

" _Force of habit, sorry. What are you doing up_?"

"Well, uh, Bobby's back. We're going to grab a beer." Bobby glanced over at him, and Dean raised a finger to his lips.

" _Alright_. _Uh, spill some for me, huh_?" Sam looked out at Johnny Mac's Diner, and hung up.

"Done. Yeah, I'll catch you later."

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby asked, frowning.

"Cause he'd just try to stop us," Dean replied.

"From what?"

"Summoning this thing. It's time we face it, head on."

"You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack." Dean tipped his chin at Bobby, smirking. "It's high noon, baby."

"We don't know what it is!" Bobby refuted. "I-It could be a demon, it could be anything."

"That's why we gotta be ready for anything." He reached into his pocket and unsheathed the demon knife they'd received from Ruby. "We got the big-time magic knife. You got an arsenal in the trunk." He wiggled his eyebrows at his surrogate father.

"This is a bad idea."

"I couldn't agree more, but what other choice do we have?"

"We could choose life," Bobby suggested.

"Bobby, whatever it is, whatever it wants, it's after me - that much we know, right? Well, I got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand."

"Dean, we could use Sam for this," Bobby said. His voice became softer as his argument became weaker.

"Nah, he's better off where he is."

Sam picked the lock to the diner. He slipped inside silently, frowning as he heard faint music echoing from the jukebox. They shut that off after hours, right? The diner was quiet and dark, the only light being from outside and the single, glowing jukebox. On the ground, halfway behind the counter, lay a body.

Steeling himself, Sam inched forward. Blood dripped from the body's fingers. He lowered himself into a kneeling position, then turned the body over.

The man's eyes were burned out of his head. His sockets were only bloody, scorched craters now. Just like Pamela. Sam grimaced and straightened.

A weight slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. They crashed into several chairs and hit the floor, and the figure punched him across the face. As Sam grabbed their shoulders and threw them off to the side, they grunted in pain. Their voice was feminine.

She leaped at him once more, and he barely dodged her desperate blow. She seemed more panicked than hateful as she fought. She blocked his punch and stumbled back, raising her fists in preparation, and Sam finally got a good look at her.

She was the waitress from before, the one that threatened Dean. Her hair was a disheveled mess, and her eyes...

Her eyes were a ruined mess of cooked flesh and blood. She panted heavily as she faced his direction, probably based on sound alone.

"Your eyes," Sam gasped.

"I could still smell your soul a mile away!" she cried. Her voice trembled with pain and terror.

"Who was here?" Sam demanded. "You saw it."

"I saw it," she whispered, nodding.

"What was it?"

She let out a broken sob. "It's the end. We're dead. We're all dead."

"What did you see?" Sam repeated.

Despite being blind and in agony, her tone held the sharp bite of defiance. "Go to Hell."

Sam lowered his fists and straightened. A cruel smirk crossed his face. "Funny… I was gonna say the same thing to you." He held out one hand, palm angled in her direction, and closed his eyes.

She coughed, gasping for air. Black smoke- bits of her soul -tumbled from her mouth, spilling over her shaking hand and pooling on the ground. She gagged and choked, clutching at her throat while more smoke began to pour out of her, churning in a shuddering black mass around her feet as she fell to her knees. The now-empty vessel collapsed.

Sam opened his eyes. He slowly lowered his hand, and the smoke sank into the floor, leaving a smoldering imprint on the ground as the demon returned to the Pit. He exhaled deeply.

A chair squeaked when Sam pushed it to the side. He knelt beside the woman and checked her pulse. Nothing.

"Dammit," he muttered.

The back door swung open, drawing his attention. A brunette stepped inside, wearing a black leather jacket and smirking. Her voice was smooth and appraising. "Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time."

Sam smiled at her as he stood up. The expression faded when he remembered the blind demons. "What the Hell's going on around here, Ruby?"

"I wish I knew," she told him. The moonlight cast a shadow over her eyes.

"We were thinking some high-level demon pulled Dean out," he guessed.

"No way. Sam, human souls don't just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy." She shook her head, a look of fear crossing her face. "This guy bleeds, the ground quakes - it's cosmic. No demon can swing that. Not Lilith, not anybody."

"Then what can?" Sam asked, although dreading the answer.

"Nothing I've ever seen before."

* * *

The spray paint can hissed as Bobby finished marking a symbol on the floor. He rose and walked over to Dean, whose eyebrows were raised at Bobby's work.

The barn walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in every occult symbol imaginable. All warding they could think of, centered around demons, to spirits, to other. A table in the back hosted an array of weapons to use, ranging from rock salt bullets all the way to the demon knife. Dean stood over the weapons, pushing a drawer closed.

"That's a hell of an art project you got going there," Dean remarked.

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe," Bobby replied, looking satisfied. "How you doing?"

Dean counted off the various dangerous items. "Stakes, iron, silver, salt, a knife - I mean, we're pretty much set to catch and kill anything I've ever heard of."

"This is still a bad idea," Bobby reiterated.

"Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times." Dean looked up. "What do you say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby sighed. He walked over to the other table with the summoning kit on top, and picked up a bowl. He sprinkled some of the stuff inside a larger container, then began to chant.

" _Amate spiritus obscure_ -"

* * *

"So, million-dollar question," Ruby said, now seated across from Sam in the quiet diner. "You gonna tell Dean about what we're doing?"

Sam paused before answering. "Yeah, I just gotta figure out the right way to say it."

Ruby stared at him, unimpressed.

"Look, I just need time, okay? That's all."

"Sam, he's gonna find out, and if it's not from you, he's gonna be pissed."

"Oh, he's gonna pissed anyway," Sam breathed, looking stressed out. "He's so hardheaded about this psychic stuff, he'll just try and stop me."

"Look, maybe I'll just take a step back for a while," Ruby suggested.

"Ruby-"

"I mean, I'm not exactly in your brother's fan club, but he is your brother, and I'm not going to come between you."

"Ruby, listen," Sam said. "I don't know if what I'm doing is right. Hell, I don't even know if I trust you."

"Thanks," Ruby muttered.

"What I do know is I'm saving people and stopping demons." He took in a deep breath. "And that feels good. I want to keep going."

* * *

Dean whistled softly, legs dangling above the ground from his sitting position on the table. He spun the knife on its tip, watching little grooves pop up on the wood. He sighed.

"You sure you did the ritual right?" he questioned Bobby.

Bobby glared at him.

"Sorry. Touchy touchy, huh?"

Outside, the wind rose to a howl, and the shutters above the barn began to bang together noisily, filling the room with their clatter. Dean and Bobby leapt to their feet, looking up at the ceiling.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," Dean said.

The lights above them shattered. The pair ducked to avoid the shower of glass as the other bulbs broke in the same manner, coating the floor and adding to the cacophony. As they continued to shatter, the barn doors swung open with a great creaking sound. Emerging from the ruckus and light stepped a man.

Dean and Bobby aimed their guns and fired at him, shot after shot, but he walked calmly on, showing no outward reactions or if he even noticed the rock salt bullets. He moved past the many traps drawn on the floor, and every sigil was ineffective.

He wore a tan trench coat over a black business suit and a blue tie. His hair was an unruly dark mess atop his head, and his expression was blank and stoic. Sparks fell over him, and he didn't even flinch. Dean and Bobby shot him over and over, watching the bullets shred through his clothes but do no harm. They exchanged a wary look. Dean grabbed the demon knife and held it behind his back.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded as the man stopped before him.

The man gazed at him in a strange way that made him feel as though he was an ant under a little kid's magnifying glass. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." His voice was low and gravelly, and Dean felt a twinge of recognition.

"Yeah. Thanks for that." Dean stabbed him in the chest.

The man only stared at him, something like amusement crossing his face, before he grasped the hilt and pulled the bloodied knife from his chest. It clattered to the ground.

From the other side, Bobby swung a crowbar. Without looking, the man caught it midair, with one hand, and touched Bobby's forehead with two fingers. His eyes fluttered shut and he collapsed. Dean stared at them in shock and fear.

The man turned around to face him once more. His expression shifted to a mix between urgency and exasperation. "We need to talk, Dean. Alone."

Dean moved to Bobby's side and checked his pulse worriedly. He glared up at the man, who was now inspecting a book of summoning rituals.

"Your friend is alive," the man assured him.

"Who are you?"

"Castiel."

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean _what_ are you?"

Castiel looked up at him, and for the first time, Dean noticed his eyes. Deep, midnight pools of the darkest blue he had ever seen. So deep, in fact, that he wondered if the very ocean itself had been modeled from them. They were neither warm nor cold, but carefully observing and familiar. His gaze was a comforting weight, but Dean would never admit that to anyone.

"I'm an angel of the Lord."

Dean rose to his feet. "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

"This is your problem, Dean," Castiel told him, stepping closer. "You have no faith."

Thunder crashed outside. Brilliant flashing light filled the room, illuminating the massive shadow of wings against the wall. The wings slowly unfurled from Castiel's back, stretching out until they had reached their entire wingspan. As soon as they were completely extended, the light went out, and the wings vanished.

Dean stared at Castiel. He didn't want to believe it was true, because then that raised several uncomfortable questions he refused to think about, despite all the evidence Castiel had shown.

When he found his voice, his response was bitter. "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel bowed his head in acknowledgement. There was real regret in his expression. "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice, but you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel?" Dean asked. "That was you _talking_?"

Castiel nodded.

"Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"That was my mistake," Castiel admitted. "Certain people- special people -can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now, huh?" Dean questioned. "Holy tax accountant?"

"This? This is a vessel." Castiel gestured at himself.

"You're possessing some poor bastard?"

"He's a devout man," Castiel replied evenly. "He actually prayed for this."

"Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling," Dean told him. "So who are you, really?"

Castiel frowned, tilting his head like a cat. "I told you."

"Right," Dean muttered, unconvinced. "And why would an angel rescue _me_ from Hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean." Castiel moved closer, until they were mere inches apart.

"Not in my experience."

Castiel's confused eyes met his shamelessly. "What's the matter?" He scanned Dean's face, and a hint of sympathy entered his expression. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Dean fought to keep his emotions under control. "Why'd you do it?"

A mask slotted over his face, his moment of vulnerability gone. In an instant, Castiel became a stiff-backed soldier, his voice turning serious and authoritative. "Because God commanded it."

He stepped back, leaving Dean with his personal space once more.

"Because we have work for you."


	6. 5x4 - The End

"Hi, good evening, brother. Is your soul rapture-ready? Thank you, sir. God bless."

Dean stepped out of the Impala and slammed the door.

"Good evening, folks, is your soul rapture-ready?" a Jehovah's Witness stopped random people on the street, waving a flyer and wearing a warm smile. "Because what I'd like to do is just show you exactly what God's love is for you. Okay, God bless."

As Dean hopped onto the sidewalk, the young man held out a hand as if to block him, but remained standing off to the side.

"Excuse me, friend, but have you taken time out to think about God's plan for you?" he questioned, clutching his flyer.

Dean wheeled around and stared at him. "Too friggin' much, pal." He swung open the motel door and went inside.

"We're talking about the Colt, right?" Dean asked Castiel over the phone, once he had gotten settled. "I mean, as in _the_ Colt?"

 _"We are,"_ Cas confirmed.

"Well, that don't make any sense. I mean, why would the demons keep a gun around that, uh, kills demons?"

" _What? What? Did-_ " A large truck roared over the phone, drowning out Cas' words. " _I didn't- I didn't get that_."

Dean chuckled. "You know, it's kind of funny, talking to a Messenger of God on a cell phone. It's, you know, like watching a Hell's angel ride a moped."

" _This isn't funny, Dean. The voice says I'm almost out of minutes_."

"Okay, alright. I-I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now."

" _Well, I hear differently. And if it's true, and if you are still set on the insane task of killing the devil, this is how we do it_."

Dean sat down on the couch. "Okay. Where do we start?"

" _Where are you now_?"

"Kansas City," Dean replied. He leaned over and grabbed his room keys. "Century Hotel, room 113."

" _I'll be there immediately_ ," Cas told him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on man," Dean complained. "I just drove like six hours straight, okay? I'm human. And there's stuff I gotta do."

" _What stuff_?"

"Eat, for example," Dean replied. "In this case, sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while, okay?"

" _Yes_."

"You can pop in tomorrow morning."

" _Yes. I'll just-_ " Dean hung up. Standing alone on a deserted street, Cas frowned at his phone. "-wait here, then."

Not too long into his sleep, Dean's phone buzzed. Exhausted, he fumbled for his phone and flipped it open without bothering to check the caller I.D. "Dammit, Cas, I need to sleep!"

" _Dean, it's me_."

Dean's eyes flew open. "Sam? It's a quarter past 4:00."

" _This is important_ ," Sam said.

Sighing, Dean rolled out of bed and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "So, you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?"

" _That's what he said_."

"Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh Sammy?" Dean popped open his drink.

" _So that's it? That's your response?_ " Sam questioned.

"What are you looking for?"

" _I don't know. A-A little panic, maybe_?"

"I guess I'm a little bit numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point," Dean replied, in all honesty.

" _What are we gonna do about it_?"

"What do you want to do about it?" Dean countered.

A pause. " _I want back in, for starters_."

"Sam-"

" _I mean it_. _I am sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches_. _I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean_."

"Oh, so we're back to revenge then, are we? Cause that worked out so well last time."

" _Not revenge_ ," Sam corrected quietly. " _Redemption_."

"So what, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?" Dean pulled out a chair and sat down, scowling.

" _Look, Dean, I can do this. I_ can. _I'm gonna prove it to you_."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, Sam. It doesn't matter, whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere... stay away from each other for good."

" _Dean, it does not have to be like this_. _We can fight it_."

"Yeah, you're right. We can," Dean agreed. "But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us- love, family, whatever it is -they are _always_ gonna use it against us. And you know that." Dean paused for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. "We're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways."

" _Dean, don't do this_ ," Sam pleaded.

"Bye, Sam." Dean hung up.

* * *

Dean woke up in only the frame of a bed. He sat up in confusion, staring around the now-ruined motel room. The walls were crumbling and covered in chipping paint, the clock on the moth-eaten nightstand was cracked, and the bed was stripped of any sheets or blankets. He got to his feet. Faint sunlight trickled through the shattered windows, bleak and grey.

Confused and disoriented, Dean walked over to the window and pushed aside the blinds.

Kansas City was a wasteland.

The sky was a flat, deep grey color, shadowing the city ruins. Every building down the street and in the distance was decayed and broken down, scattered debris clogging up the street with crumpled cars and shattered traffic lights. Several buildings were burned to the ground, and many more were scorched. A street light was bent awkwardly beneath the fallen roof of a house, and a limp American flag dangled from a post. A nearby cinema sign proclaimed, **NOW PLAYING: ROUTE 666**.

Dean stared out at the destruction in mute horror.

Down at ground level, it wasn't much better. The air held the acrid scent of sulfur and decay, and glass crunched beneath his feet as he stepped out of the motel. He walked into the middle of the street, where he had a great view of the devastation. It was quiet; too quiet. There should be birds, rats, insects, but instead, there was only a terrible, suffocating silence.

As he headed off down the street, he scanned his surroundings for any sign of danger. The ruins around him seemed devoid of life, but he couldn't afford to take any chances. He leaned over the side of a crashed car. Glass shattered in the distance.

He looked up in its direction. He followed the origin of the sound, turning into an alleyway coated with graffiti in various states of freshness. A spray-painted cross formed a background for the word 'peace'.

Kneeling in the center of the damp alley, dressed in filthy rags and head bowed over a grimy teddy bear, was a young girl.

"Little girl?" Dean called, uncertain. She didn't react. "Little girl?" He moved forward cautiously, not wanting to startle her. "Are you hurt?" He waved his arms a bit as anxiety began to gnaw at him. He lowered himself into a crouch. "You know the not-talking thing is kind of creepy, right?"

Blood dripped from her lips.

She whipped her head up, snarled at him, and lunged, a shard of broken glass clenched in her tiny fist. She shrieked at the top of her lungs, slicing him with the glass. He jumped back with a shout of surprise, and on reflex, punched her across the face. Spinning around, she collapsed onto a mattress, unconscious.

Dean panted, unnerved by the sudden attack. He grimaced as he touched the wound she inflicted on him.

As he twisted his head to look at the damage, he saw the bloody words painted on the far wall.

 **CROATOAN**

"Oh, crap," he muttered.

People swarmed from around the corner, their eyes crazed and filled with bloodlust, each one of them just as filthy as the girl. There must have been more than fifteen of them, crowding the entrance of the alley and glaring at him.

He stepped back apprehensively.

They charged.

Dean took off running, as fast as he could to escape the murderous horde. Bolting out of the alley, he kicked over a trash can, hoping to deter them, but their attention was wholly on him. They flooded out onto the street, fanning out behind him as he dodged rusted vehicles and trash. His feet pounded on the asphalt, the sounds of feet slapping the wet pavement urging him to hurry, hurry, hurry hurry hurry-

More of them emerged from closed shops and buildings, joining the massive hunt for Dean Winchester. He seriously regretted being born without the key feature of Sam's long legs.

He skidded to a halt. A huge chain-link fence barred him from escaping, blocking off the whole street. They slowed to a rapid stride behind him, probably wanting to terrify their prey before they ate him alive.

Gunfire engulfed the street.

Men in military uniforms drove up to the fence, wielding assault rifles and shooting holes into the infected people. Dean threw himself to the ground, covering his ears and head. Someone inside the car turned on the radio, and a rock song began to blast through the speakers, confusing and startling the people to make them easier targets.

" _Do you love me~_ "

Soldiers charged from behind the fence, gunning down any people who tried to approach. Their uniforms were ripped and dirty but still recognizable as the military.

On his hands and knees, Dean crawled away from the infected and soldiers alike, tumbling into an alley and flattening himself against a wall. The battle raged on.

* * *

When night fell and both sides retreated, Dean pried open a small section of the fence and crawled under, escaping to the other side. He stood up and saw a sign pinned to the chain.

 **NO ENTRY**

 **BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND**

 **AUGUST 1ST 2014**

 **KANSAS CITY**

 **Ord. 848243/43QE**

It was the date that caught his attention. Five years in the future? He read it aloud to confirm it was real. There was nothing familiar here, nothing that made any sense whatsoever, but there was one person he could always count on to be there for him.

He hotwired a car and took off down the road.

His cell had no service. What a surprise. He sighed and tried the radio; only static there.

"That's never a good sign," he muttered.

"'Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia'," Zachariah read aloud from a newspaper.

Dean flinched and jerked back, nearly sending them spinning off the road. He gripped the wheel tightly in his irritation. "I thought I smelled your stink on this 'Back to the Future' crap."

"'President Palin defends bombing of Houston," the angel continued, flipping to the next page. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports; that's right, no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's _left_ of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum if you ask me."

"How did you find me?" Dean demanded.

"Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late," Zachariah explained, "human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image and told to keep an eye out."

"The Bible freak outside the motel," Dean realized. "He, what, dropped a dime on me?"

"Onward, Christian soldiers."

Dean groaned. "Okay, well, good, great. You have had your jollies. Now send me back, you son of a bitch."

"Oh, you'll get back - all in good time," Zachariah assured him. "We want you to marinate a bit."

"Marinate?"

"Three days, Dean." Zachariah looked over at him, expression shifting into something grim. "Three days to see where this course of action takes you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

"It means that your choices have consequences." The angel snapped open the newspaper and brandished it for Dean to see. "This is what happens to the world if you continue to say 'no' to Michael." He lowered the newspaper. With his chin, he gestured out at the road. "Have a little look-see." Then he was gone.

Dean smacked the steering wheel.

* * *

~ _Singer's Salvage Yard, SD_ ~

"Bobby?" Dean called. He eased the front door open. "Bobby, I'm coming in!"

The house was dark and eerily quiet. Dean left the door open to allow in some light. He stepped into the kitchen, and his stomach dropped.

Bobby's wheelchair, laying on its side, its owner absent.

"Oh no," Dean whispered. He picked up the folded contraption and set it upright. Several bullet holes punctured the fabric, surrounded with dark stains that Dean tried not to think about. He looked around the kitchen, at everything that was the same and different simultaneously. "Where is everybody, Bobby?"

Dusting off the wood, Dean pulled a shelf from the wall and removed the leather-bound journal inside. Bobby's hunting notebook.

Near the end, a black and white photograph was pressed into the brittle pages. It depicted three unfamiliar men, Bobby in his wheelchair, and Castiel, each one gripping a gun. Cas wore regular human clothes, rather than his trench coat, which Dean found odd. Beside them was a wooden plaque with words carved into it.

 _welcome to_

 _CAMP CHITAQUA_

"Camp Chitaqua," Dean murmured. He'd found his next destination.

* * *

Camp Chitaqua was surrounded with thick chain-link fencing, blocking off all entrances from the outside. Dean crouched by the gate, peering inside. He held still as a pair of guards strolled by, barely trusting himself to breath until they passed. As he watched them, something else caught his eye.

A car, half buried in the bushes, grime and dirt caked over what was once gleaming black paint. One window was shattered, and dents peppered the metal.

"Oh, baby, no," Dean whispered. When he found a loose section of fence, he slipped inside and ran to the Impala. Seeing his car in such a state of disarray shocked him to the core. "Oh no, baby, what did they do to you?"

Someone's fist collided with his face, and everything went dark.

* * *

Dean groaned. His eyes fluttered open, latching onto his wrist, where metal cuffs restrained him to a pole. He yanked at it, bruising his wrist, then finally looked up.

Sitting at a table, loading a gun with practiced ease, was...

Himself.

Future Dean Winchester's stare snapped to him. His expression was cold and calculating. Assessing.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered.

" _I_ should be asking that question, don't you think?" the other replied. "In fact, why don't you give me one good reason-" He cocked the gun and aimed it at Dean, "-why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?"

Dean blinked a few times. "Because you'd only be hurting yourself...?"

"Very funny." Future Dean- who past Dean mentally nicknamed 'FD' -leaned back and set the gun down.

"Look, man," Dean tried, jingling his handcuff. "I'm no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?"

"Yeah, I know," FD replied. "I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water - nothing. But you know what was funny? Was that you had every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that _I_ carry. Now, you wanna explain that? Oh and, the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?"

Dean hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "Zachariah."

FD rose to his feet, expression hardening. "Come again?"

"I'm you, from the tail end of 2009," Dean told him. "Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future."

"Where is he?" FD demanded. "I wanna talk to him."

"I don't know," Dean said.

"Oh, you don't know?" FD mocked, scowling.

"No, I don't know. Look, I just wanna get back to my own friggin' year, okay?"

FD nodded slightly, then bent down to look him in the eyes. "Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know."

Dean scoffed. He sifted through his memories, trying to pick one that stuck out. He nearly laughed aloud when he found it. "Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh... nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what?" Dean waved a finger at his doppelganger. "We kind of liked it."

FD gazed at him, eyes softening a bit. "Touché." He stood. "So what - Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?"

"I guess." Dean looked up at him as FD cocked a pistol. "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?"

FD nodded. "It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that."

"What about Sam?"

The question made him pause. FD stared at the weapons in his hands, eyes cast downward and lips pressed together. He never took his gaze off the gun. His voice was apathetic, as if he had long since moved on. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it."

Dean exhaled. "You weren't with him?"

"No. No, me and Sam, we hadn't talked in…" FD chuckled humorlessly. "Hell, five years."

"We never tried to find him?" Dean asked, growing more and more disbelieving as FD talked.

"I got other people to worry about," FD replied flippantly. He zipped up a backpack.

"Where are you going?"

"I gotta run an errand."

"Whoa, you're just gonna leave me here?" Dean asked, tugging at his handcuff.

"Yes." FD's voice took on an authoritative, sharp quality. "I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an Apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of 'The Parent Trap'. So yeah, you stay locked down."

"Okay, alright, fine. But you don't have to cuff me, man," Dean complained. "Oh come on, you don't trust yourself?"

FD paused at the door and glanced back at his younger self. "No. Absolutely not." And then he was gone.

"Dick."

After painstakingly chipping away at the floorboards for a while, Dean managed to wiggle a nail from the wood. He smiled and freed himself. The sun was up when he stepped outside. The air was fresher here, surrounded by woodlands and nature. He walked down the stairs, taking in his peaceful surroundings, and was instantly confronted by someone.

"Hey, Dean, you got a second?"

None other than Chuck Shurley jogged up to him, his hair cut and his sparkling eyes filled with dreadful knowledge only prophets possess.

"No. Yes. Uh, I-I guess," Dean stammered. "Hi, Chuck."

"Hi. So, uh, listen, we're pretty good on canned goods for now but we're down to next to nothing on perishables and- and hygiene supplies." Chuck looked up at him expectantly. "People are not gonna be happy about this. So, what do you think we should do?"

It was clear that Future Dean was in a position of authority and leadership that Past Dean wasn't used to. He didn't like that hopeful expression that Chuck wore; the one that he wouldn't want to let down.

Dean gulped. "I-I don't know. Maybe, uh, share? You know, like at a kibbutz."

Chuck stared at him. His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. "Wait a minute, aren't you supposed to be out on a mission right now?"

"Absolutely," Dean agreed. "And I will be-"

"Uh-oh," Chuck mumbled, catching sight of someone behind him.

Dean turned around just in time to dodge a punch that went flying at his face. An Asian woman swung at him again, and he darted behind Chuck to protect himself.

"Easy, lady!" Dean cried.

"Risa," Chuck corrected nervously.

"Risa!" Dean said.

"You spent the night in Jane's cabin last night, didn't you?" Risa demanded, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Uh, what? I-I don't-" Dean turned to Chuck helplessly. "Did I?"

Chuck, looking scared out of his mind, nodded with his eyes shut tight.

"I thought we had a 'connection'," Risa snapped.

"Well, I'm sure that we do," Dean placated.

"Yeah? Screw you." She stormed past them, Chuck muttering a quiet 'hi, Risa' as she went.

"Oh jeez, I'm getting busted for stuff I haven't even done yet," Dean remarked, chuckling.

"What?" Chuck questioned.

"Uh, never mind. Hey, Chuck, is... Cas, still here?"

Chuck laughed a bit. "Yeah. I don't think Cas is going anywhere."

Dean headed up the steps to Castiel's cabin. Instead of a door, there was a covering of beads on strings, forming a design. He pushed the beads aside and peeked at the interior.

"So, in this way," Future Cas was saying to a group of women, "we're each a fragment of total perception. Just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind." He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, dressed in an unbuttoned polo and billowy green pants. He had grown a beard, and his hair curled over his forehead. "Now, the key to this total, shared perception, it's, um... it's surprisingly physical."

Then he saw Dean. His expression shifted marginally, from serene zen to disappointment, maybe even apprehension. In an instant, it was gone, replaced with calm and kindness. "Excuse me, ladies," he told them. "I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy?"

Dean blinked.

The women rose to their feet and filed out in a shambling, ridiculously slow line.

"You're all so beautiful," Cas murmured as they headed off.

Once they were all gone, Cas got to his feet and stretched.

"What are you, a hippie?" Dean asked, frowning.

"I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me," Cas replied. He sighed and turned to face Dean.

"Cas, we gotta talk," Dean said.

Cas' eyes widened for comical effect. His tone was sarcastic and mocking, something that Past-Castiel hadn't mastered yet. "Whoa. Strange."

"What?"

"You... are not you - not 'now' you, anyway," Cas observed.

"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly."

"What year are you from?" Cas wondered. His eyes slid over Dean. The blue orbs had lost their sheen, their spark of hope. They were now dulled and faded. Lifeless.

"2009."

Cas exhaled. "Who did this to you? Is it Zachariah?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"Oh yeah, it's friggin' fascinating," Dean snapped. He clapped his hands. "Now, why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?"

Cas grinned humorlessly, turning away from Dean. He chuckled and sniffed, but the sound was pained. "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry - no dice."

Dean scowled. "What are you, stoned?"

"Uh... generally, yeah."

Seeing Cas' careless expression, his sluggish movements, it was all so uncharacteristic. "What happened to you?"

"Life," Cas replied, offering a lazy grin.

Future Dean and his posse returned not much later. Dean stepped out of Cas' cabin and watched the cars pull up. Cas peeked out behind him.

The group sprayed something on the windshield and hood. Dean headed down the steps, only to see FD whip out a gun and aim it at his friend.

"Hey! Watch out!" Dean shouted.

FD shot him in the head. The man collapsed.

Dean stared at his future self in shock. The others mirrored his expression, but not for the dead man; for him.

FD glared at him and Cas. "Dammit," he muttered. He turned to his remaining companions. "I'm not gonna lie to you. Me and him? It's a pretty messed up situation we got going. But believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it. Until then, we all have work to do."

A few moments later, FD shoved Dean roughly back inside his cabin and slammed the door.

"What the hell was that?" he snarled.

"What the hell was _that_?" Dean countered. "You just shot a guy in cold blood."

"We were in an open quarantine zone - got ambushed by some crotes on the way out."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Crotes, croatoans. One of them infected Yager."

"How do you know?"

"Cause after a few years of this, I know," FD said shortly. "I started seeing symptoms about a half an hour ago. Wasn't gonna be long before he flipped. I didn't see the point in troubling a good man with bad news."

"'Troubling a good man'?" Dean questioned. "You just blew him away in front of your own people. Don't you think that freaked 'em out a little bit?"

"It's 2014," FD growled. "Plugging some crote - it's called commonplace. Trading words with my friggin' clone? _That_ might have freaked them out a little."

"Alright, look-"

"No, _you_ look," FD interrupted. "This isn't _your_ time. It's _mine_. You don't make the decisions. I do. So when I say 'stay in', you stay in." He stormed over to the window and turned away from him.

"Alright, man, I'm sorry," Dean said after a moment. "Look, I-I'm not trying to mess you - or me, us up here."

"I know." FD popped open a bottle and began to pour two drinks.

"It's just been a really wacky weekend," Dean sighed.

"Tell me about it." FD set the drinks in front of them, then tipped back one. Dean did the same.

"What was the mission, anyway?" Dean asked, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries.

FD remained silent. He set down his drink and reached into his bag. In his hands rested a shiny black gun that Dean recognized.

"The Colt?" Dean whispered.

"The Colt," FD confirmed.

"Where was it?"

"Everywhere. They've been moving it around." FD rubbed the handle admiringly. "Took me five years, but... I finally got it." He set the Colt down on the table with a clatter. "And tonight…" He picked up his drink and raised it to his lips. "... tonight, I'm gonna kill the Devil."

* * *

Future Dean soon gathered Risa and Castiel to go over the plan with him and Past Dean. They all stood in various places around the room: Dean, sitting in the windowsill; FD, at the head of the table; Risa, standing with her arms crossed; and Cas, leaned back in his chair with his legs propped up on the table and a drink in his hand.

"So, that's it?" Risa questioned. "That's _the_ Colt?"

"If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it," FD said.

"Great." Risa narrowed her eyes at him. "Have we got anything that can _find_ Lucifer?"

"Are you okay?" FD asked, his tone bordering on patronizing.

"Oh, we were in, uh, Jane's cabin last night," Dean piped up. "And apparently, we and... Risa, have a connection."

Cas grinned to himself. Risa stuck out her chin.

"You want to shut up?" FD said to Dean. He addressed his team next. "We don't have to find Lucifer. We know where he is. The demon that we caught last week - he was one of the big guy's entourage. He knew."

"So, a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be, and you just believe it?" Risa wondered aloud, eyebrows raised in her skepticism.

"Oh, trust me. He wasn't lying."

"And you know this _how_?"

"Our fearless leader, I'm afraid," Cas spoke up, "is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth."

Dean blinked. " _Torture_? Oh, so we're- we're torturing again. No, that's- that's good. Classy."

Cas laughed. At FD's scowl, he said, "What? I like Past You."

Knowing he wouldn't win this one, FD rolled out a map and pressed it to the table. "Lucifer is here. Now, I know the block and I know the building."

Cas leaned over to look, and immediately lost any front of respect or tolerance he may put up for FD. "Oh, good - it's right in the middle of a hot zone."

"Crawling with crotes, yeah," FD agreed. "You saying my plan is reckless?"

"Are you saying-" Cas shot back, "-we uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the crotes and we shoot the Devil?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Cas said. His eyes glittered with defiance. "If you don't like, uh, 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe."

"Are you coming?" FD asked, ignoring the slight.

Cas let out a long, weary sigh. "Of course." Despite his obvious reluctance and qualms about the plan, he seemed used to having his remarks and suggestions shut down. He glanced back at Dean. "But why is _he_? I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?"

"He's coming," FD dismissed.

"Okay," Cas muttered unhappily. He stood up and headed to the door, Risa following. "Well, uh, I'll get the grunts moving."

"We're loaded and on the road by midnight," FD called after them.

"Alrighty," Cas replied.

Watching the way his future self treated his closest friends and confidants, Dean felt a twinge of disappointment. Would he really become this callous and arrogant? Towards even _Cas_?

"Why _are_ you taking me?" Dean asked, instead of voicing his internal struggle.

"Relax. You'll be fine." FD opened his bag and stuffed the map inside. "Zach's looking after you, right?"

"No, that's not what I mean," Dean said. "I want to know what's going on."

FD hesitated. He let go of his bag. "Yeah, okay." He walked around the table and met Dean's gaze. "You're coming because I want you to see something. I want you to see our brother."

"Sam? I thought he was dead."

"Sam didn't _die_ in Detroit," FD admitted. He sounded harsh, but Dean knew himself better than anyone; it was a mask. He was hiding the pain beneath a sharp tone and a serious facade. "He said yes."

"'Yes'?" Dean paused at the anguished look in FD's eyes. "Wait. You mean-"

"That's right. The big 'yes'. To the Devil." FD glanced away. "Lucifer's wearing him to the prom."

"Why would he do that?"

"Wish I knew." FD shook his head. "But now we don't have a choice. It's in him, and it's not gettin' out." He held up the Colt. "And we've gotta kill him, Dean. And you need to see it- the whole damn thing, how bad it gets -so you can do it different."

"What do you mean?"

"Zach said he was gonna bring you back, right? To '09?"

"Yeah."

"Well, when you get back home," FD told him, "you say 'yes'. You hear me? You say 'yes' to Michael."

"That's crazy," Dean argued. "If I let him in then Michael fights the Devil. The battle's gonna torch half the planet."

"Look around you, man. _Half_ the planet is better than _no_ planet, which is what we have now. If I could do it over again, I'd say 'yes' in a heartbeat."

"So why don't you?"

"I tried!" FD shouted. His voice broke. "I've shouted 'yes' until I was blue in the face! The angels aren't listening! They just left - gave up! It's too late for me, but for you-"

"Oh, no, there's gotta be another way," Dean insisted.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I was cocky. Never actually thought I'd lose." FD's tone turned pleading. He was begging now. "But I was wrong. Dean, I was _wrong_. I'm begging you. Say 'yes'." When FD saw the determined gleam in Dean's eyes, the stubborn reluctance, he knew there was no convincing his past self. His next words were defeated. "But you won't. Cause _I_ didn't. Because that's just not us, is it?"

* * *

"So you're really from '09?" Chuck questioned Dean as they walked out to the jeeps.

"Yeah, afraid so."

"Some free advice?" Chuck offered. "You ever get back there, you hoard toilet paper. You understand me? _Hoard_ it. Hoard it like it's made of gold. Cause it _is_."

"Thank you, Chuck," Dean replied.

"Oh, you'll thank me, alright. Mark my words."

"I'll see you around."

Chuck wrapped his arms around himself, clutching his clipboard close. "Yeah. Okay."

Dean jumped into the passenger seat of Castiel's vehicle, and they drove off.

Cas reached into the dashboard and retrieved a bottle of pills that rattled when he opened it. He popped some into his mouth.

"Let me see those," Dean said.

"You want some?" Cas asked, handing him the bottle.

Dean cleared his throat and read the label. "Amphetamines?"

"It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe," Cas explained. He sniffed and hummed contentedly.

"Don't get me wrong, Cas," Dean said. "I, uh, I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass, but... what's going on? W-With the uh, the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?"

Cas tipped back his head and laughed. His smile was crooked and wide as he fought to contain his amusement.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'm not an angel anymore," Cas answered, a twinge of pain leaking into his words.

"What?"

"Yeah, I went mortal."

"What do you mean? How?"

"I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving," Cas muttered. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes with the other. "But when they bailed, my mojo just kinda…" He made a whirring noise, similar to a computer powering down. "Drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless. Last year, broke my foot? Laid up for two months."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"So you're human?" Dean asked, not quite believing Cas' words yet.

Cas nodded.

"Welcome to club," Dean supplied.

"Thanks." Cas fixed his gaze on the road. "Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I'm powerless. I'm hapless, I'm hopeless. I mean, why the hell _not_ bury myself in women and decadence, right? It's the end, baby! That's what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then-" he chuckled, "-that's just how I roll."

* * *

The sun had just begun to emerge when they entered the city. Little afterthoughts of a storm drifted by, illuminated pink and orange by the sunrise. They headed down the deserted street, armed to the teeth and wary of their surroundings. Every tiny sound turned heads. The guards of the group trained their weapons outward.

Future Dean led them to the building he had marked out. It was fenced in by a rusted fence, with a 'NO TRESPASSING' sign pinned to the front. FD raised a pair of binoculars and peered at the building.

"There," he said. "Second-floor window. We go in there."

"You sure about this?" Risa asked.

"They'll never see us coming," FD assured her.

Dean watched him. His stance, his tone, everything screamed 'he's hiding something'. Dean knew it all too well.

"Trust me," FD said, at Risa's reluctant expression. "Now, weapons check. We're on the move in five."

"Hey, uh, me," Dean called. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

The pair walked over to a quiet patch of woods where the others couldn't hear.

"Tell me what's going on," Dean demanded.

"What?"

"I know you. You're lying to these people, and to me."

FD regarded him, his face unreadable. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. See, I know your lying expressions," Dean told him. "I've seen them in the mirror. Now, there's something you're not telling us."

"I don't know what you're talking about," FD replied.

"Oh, really? Well, I don't seem to be the only member of your posse with some questions, so uh, maybe I'll just take my doubts over to them." Dean went to go prove his point, but FD stopped him.

"Okay, whoa whoa whoa. Wait."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Take a look around you, man," FD urged. "This place should be white-hot with crotes. Where are

Dean frowned in realization. "They cleared a path for us. Which means that this is-"

"A trap, exactly," FD finished.

"Well, then we can't go through the front."

"Oh, _we're_ not," FD said. He gestured at their waiting companions. " _They_ are. They're the decoys. You and me? We're going in through the back."

"You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder?" Dean questioned, shocked at his future self. "Cas, too? You want to use their deaths as a _diversion_?"

FD looked away.

"Oh, man, something is broken in you," Dean whispered. "You're making decisions I would _never_ make. I wouldn't sacrifice my friends."

"You're right." FD's voice was ice cold. " _You_ wouldn't. It's one of the main reasons we're in this mess, actually."

"These people count on you," Dean pleaded, trying to convince the other that this path wasn't worth it. "They trust you."

"They trust me to kill the Devil and to save the world, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"No. Not like this, you're not," Dean decided. "I'm not going to let you."

"Oh really?" FD questioned. He pulled back his fist and punched Dean across the face, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

Dean woke to screaming.

As everything came rushing back, he staggered to his feet and ran to the building.

The windows were alight with gunfire and echoing cries of pain. Cas and Risa - they were in there, on a suicide mission that he would eventually arrange. And they were dying. Slaughtered like pigs.

Dean rushed around the back, hoping to intercept the battle before any more of his friends died, but a scene in the courtyard made him skid to a halt.

His future self lay sprawled out in the grass, his gun resting a few feet away. A tall figure, dressed in all white, pressed a foot to his neck, restraining him. In the instant it took for their eyes to lock, FD's neck snapped beneath the person's heel. Thunder crashed above.

The figure, sensing his presence, turned around, and Dean was greeted with the face of Sam Winchester.

"Oh," Sam- _not Sam_ , Dean reminded himself, _Sam could never be so merciless_ -remarked. "Hello, Dean. Aren't you a surprise?"

Lightning arced across the boiling sky, causing Dean to flinch. Lucifer appeared behind him.

"You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?"

Dean hated the curious, faintly amused gleam in Sam's- _Lucifer's_ eyes. "Well, go ahead," he snapped. "Kill me."

Lucifer blinked. "Kill you?" He glanced over at FD's still, lifeless body. "Don't you think that would be a little... redundant?" He sighed. The sympathy in his voice was almost authentic. "I'm sorry. It must be painful, speaking to me in this... shape. But it _had_ to be your brother. It had to be." He reached out to touch Dean's shoulder, as if to comfort him, but when Dean flinched, he stopped right before making contact, choosing to form a fist instead. His hand fell back to his side. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean. What do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't know, maybe deep-fry the planet?" Dean spat.

Lucifer moved past him. Atop a pillar, a budding rose grew. He gently touched the soft petals, avoiding the thorns. Then he released the flower, turning to face Dean. "Why? Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing? Beautiful, in a trillion different ways - the last perfect handiwork of God?"

Dean watched him from a distance, gritting his teeth.

A range of emotions crossed Lucifer's face, until settling on something curious. "You ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?"

"Oh, good God," Dean groaned. "You're not gonna tell me a bedtime story, are you? My stomach's almost out of bile."

"You know why God cast me down?" Lucifer inquired, ignoring his comment. "Because I loved him. More than anything. And then God created... you." His lip curled in disgust, but his voice was anguished. "The little hairless apes. And then he asked all of us to bow down before you - to love _you_ , more than _Him_. And I said, 'Father, I can't.' I said, 'these human beings are flawed, murderous.' And for that, God had Michael cast me into Hell." He tilted his head, a crumpled copy of a smile curving his lips. "Now tell me - does the punishment fit the crime?"

Dean pressed his lips together.

"Especially when I was right?" Lucifer added, narrowing his eyes. "Look what six billion of you have done to this thing. And how many of you blame _me_ for it?"

"You're not fooling me, you know that?" Dean snarled, "with this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are."

"What am I?" Lucifer asked.

"You're the same thing, only bigger." Dean's voice cracked, seeing the calm, kindly inquisitive expression that Lucifer tried to pull off. He couldn't act like Sam, he didn't look like Sam, and Dean knew better than to ever confuse the two. This wasn't his brother. "The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego."

Lucifer smiled at the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His lips twitched into a cruel, indifferent smirk. "I like you, Dean. I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye. We'll meet again soon." He turned and began to stroll away.

"You better kill me now!" Dean shouted. His voice trembled as he fought to keep his emotions under control.

"Pardon?"

"You better kill me now," Dean repeated, taking in a shuddering breath. "Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop."

"I know you won't," Lucifer replied evenly. He seemed disappointed, yet resigned. "I know you won't say 'yes' to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, _we_ will always end up..." He glanced around the courtyard, as if memorizing the scene in his mind. His smile had faded, replaced with only grim truth. "... here."

A tear trickled down Dean's cheek.

"I win," Lucifer said. "So, _I_ win."

"You're wrong," Dean whispered.

Pity carved a fake smile into his features. "See you in five years, Dean." Thunder crashed, and he was gone.

Zachariah touched his forehead.

* * *

Dean gasped and stumbled back, hitting the counter in his motel room. Zachariah stood a few feet away, that infuriating, never-ceasing, high-and-mighty smile plastered onto his face.

"Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you," Dean snapped.

"Enough," Zachariah said. "Dean, enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens. You're the only person who can prove the Devil wrong. Just say 'yes'."

"How do I know that this whole thing isn't one of your tricks?" Dean demanded. "Huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?"

"The time for tricks is over," Zachariah replied. "Give yourself over to Michael. Say 'yes', and we can strike. Before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die."

Dean looked away. He walked past Zachariah, his eyes pained, assuring the angel he was convinced. Then, he spoke.

"Nah."

"'Nah'?" Zachariah questioned. "You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"

"Oh, I've learned a lesson alright," Dean said. "Just not the one you wanted to teach."

"Well, I'll just have to teach it again," Zachariah threatened, storming forward. "Because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you-"

Dean vanished.

Castiel smiled at him.

They now stood on a deserted street, still engulfed in nighttime. Dean chuckled.

"That's pretty nice timing, Cas."

"We had an appointment."

Dean scanned him up and down, relieved to find him back in his trench coat and no longer so drugged-up he couldn't see straight. "Don't _ever_ change," Dean told him.

Cas smiled at him, then asked, "How did Zachariah find you?"

"Long story," Dean said. "Let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?"

"What are you doing?" Cas asked, watching Dean flip open his cell phone.

"Something I should have done in the first place."

* * *

A chilling wind swept past Dean as he leaned on the Impala, parked on a dirt path beside a railroad. The sky was a calm grey, with little pockets of sunlight filtering through. In the distance, the sun peeked over the horizon.

Down the road, a faded yellow car crested the hill, grinding to a halt before Dean. The engine shut off.

Sam stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Dean walked over to him, wanting to speak while he was able.

"Sam," he greeted.

Sam remained silent.

Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out the demon knife. "If you're serious and you want back in…" He flipped it around and brandished the handle for his brother to take. "... you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty."

Sam gazed at the knife for several moments. He reached out and carefully grasped the handle.

"Look, man, I'm sorry," Dean said. "I don't know. I'm... whatever I need to be. But I was, uh... wrong."

"What made you change your mind?" Sam asked softly.

Dean chuckled. "Long story. The point is... maybe we _are_ each other's Achilles' Heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other. I don't know. I just know we're all we've got." He met Sam's gaze, the gentle and forgiving one, the one that was _right_ and held no ulterior motive or cruelty. "More than that. We keep each other human."

"Thank you," Sam whispered. "Really. Thank you. I won't let you down."

"Oh, I know it," Dean assured him. "I mean, you _are_ the second-best hunter on the planet."

Sam cracked a smile. "So what do we do now?"

"We make our own future," Dean told him.

"Guess we have no choice."


	7. 5x19 - Hammer of the Gods

Night had fallen in Muncie, Indiana. The sky brewed with storm clouds, and rain trickled down in gentle sheets. A security guard pulled up in front of an old, broken down hotel, once known as Elysian Fields. He unlocked the doors and stepped inside, turning his flashlight on. He checked up on the place every month, making sure there were no people living inside or something. Wood creaked.

He frowned and moved forward. "Hello?"

As he rounded the corner, a flower sprouted from a chipped vase.

Something clanged behind him. He whirled around, training his light on the source. A mirror on the wall crackled. He turned and gasped.

A man stood before him. He was dressed in a crisp red suit, and his hair was styled in an expert fashion. His lips twitched into a smile.

"Hiya," he greeted.

"Buddy, you can't be here," the guard insisted, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Course I can," he replied. "Someone's got to get everything ready. They're coming - all of them. And we've each got our part to play." He took a step closer. "Even you."

"What?"

"You're dinner," he explained. Lightning fast, he grabbed the man by his collar.

Blood splattered the walls.

* * *

Thunder crashed. Water poured down in buckets from the sky, dripping off of the neon blue letters that spelled out 'The Elysian Fields Hotel'. Sam and Dean Winchester parked in front and ran inside, getting soaked in the process. They stumbled into the hotel, shivering and wet.

Shaking their heads and panting, the brothers glanced around the lobby. Neon blue seemed to be a theme here; the color lit up every sign and light fixture. People milled around, lounging on plush white couches and chatting at the bar. Logs crackled in the fireplace. Gentle music played in the background.

Dean grinned. "Nice digs, for once," he remarked.

They approached the manager at the front desk. He wore a sleek maroon tuxedo and a black bowtie, and his nametag read 'Chet'. His fingers flew over the keyboard, faster than they could see. He glanced up at them with a smile that could cut glass, and turned back to his work.

"Busy night," Dean commented.

"Any port in a storm, I guess," Chet replied easily. He pushed the guest log in front of them. "If you could just fill this out, please." He tilted his head, spotting something on Dean's neck. "Sir, I think you got a little... shaving nick there." He handed Dean a napkin.

Frowning, Dean dabbed his neck. The paper came away bloody.

Chet held up their room keys, which jingled. "Your key."

"Oh, thanks," Dean said, taking the keys from him. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a coffee shop, would you?"

"Buffet. All you can eat," Chet answered, gesturing. He leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. "Best pie in the tri-state area."

"You don't say?" Dean said, grinning. He walked over to said buffet, grabbing two plates of pie and inspecting them.

"Heaven, right?" another guest commented.

"Trust me, pal. Better." As he headed back to the table where he'd left Sam, he saw a woman sitting alone, stirring a glass. He paused beside her. "How you doing?"

"No," she said. Her stony expression matched her voice.

"But-"

"No."

"Oh, lady, I'm just," Dean tried to backpedal. "You know-"

"I understand," she replied. Her lips were a deep red, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as she stared at him, uninterested. "And no."

"10-4. Yeah." Dean offered an awkward smile and hurried off.

Sam was sitting at the table, his food untouched and eyes fixed on his phone screen.

"Sam, unpucker, man," Dean told him. "Eat something."

"We should hit the road, Dean," Sam replied.

"In this storm? What i-it's-"

"It's Biblical, exactly," Sam said. He scowled at Dean's plate. "It's friggin' Noah's Ark out there, and we're eating pie."

A pause. "How many hours of sleep did you get this week? What, three? Four?" Sam looked away. "Bobby's got his feelers out, okay? We have talked with every hoodoo man and root woman in twelve states."

"Yeah, well, I'm not giving up."

" _Nobody's_ giving up," Dean assured him. "Especially me. We're gonna find a way to beat the Devil, okay? Soon. I can feel it. And we will find Cas, and we'll find Adam, but you are no good to me burnt out."

Sam sighed and nodded a bit. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Come on, we've actually got the night off for once. Let's try to enjoy it."

When they headed to their room, they witnessed a couple in the hallway, kissing passionately and giggling. They laughed as they stumbled back into a room and closed the door.

"Oh, what are you, twelve?" Sam muttered, as Dean grinned at them.

"I'm young at heart," Dean said.

Their room was nicer than anything they'd stayed at before. The curtains were drawn halfway closed, and a few sleek white lanterns illuminated the space. There was a table in the corner with two chairs tucked under it, and the beds were king-sized with deep crimson blankets.

Dean whistled. "Wow, look at this," he remarked. He tossed his stuff on one bed. "We're like Rockefellers. Chocolates!" He grabbed his from off the pillow. "You want yours?"

Sam shook his head. "Knock yourself out."

"Whoa." Dean picked up something else from the nightstand. "'Casa Erotica 13', on demand."

A heavy sigh and a scoff escaped Sam.

"What?"

"Isn't this place kind of... in the middle of nowhere?" Sam asked, frowning.

"So?"

"So, what's a four-star hotel doing on a no-star highway?"

Dean shrugged. Through the wall, sounds that should not be described could be heard, causing Dean to grin and Sam to sigh.

Suddenly, there was a crashing noise. The lantern wobbled, and the TV on the wall trembled. Exchanging a glance, the brothers rushed out into the hallway and entered the room beside theirs.

Empty.

The lights were shut off, the sheets were abandoned, and everything was quiet.

"Hello?" Sam called.

Silence. Dean knelt down and scooped something from the floor.

A shiny, glittering engagement ring, with no owner.

* * *

"The, uh, the room next to ours- the couple that are, uh, joined at the lips -have you seen them?" Dean asked the manager.

"Mr. and Mrs. Logan - the honeymooners?" Chet inquired. His fingers blurred over the keys. "They checked out." At their expressions, he continued, "is something the matter?"

"They checked out?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Mm-hm. Just now."

"Really?" Sam stared at him. "It sorta seemed like they were, um... in the middle of something."

Chet shrugged.

"Yeah, it's kind of weird to for honeymooners to, uh, check out without this." Dean held up the ring.

"Oh, dear," Chet murmured. He plucked the ring from Dean's fingers and tucked it away. "I'll just put that right in the lost and found. Don't you worry." He smiled charmingly. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Uh, no. No, we're good," Dean replied.

"Super fantastic," Chet said. His eyes flicked to Sam, then back to Dean. A strange silence fell over them, until Chet turned back to his work and the brothers stepped away.

"Creepy," Sam muttered.

"Broke the needle," Dean said. "Alright, well, I'll scope out the joint and you keep an eye on Norman Bates over here."

Sam sighed.

"I mean, _one_ night off," Dean grumbled. "Is that too much to ask?"

As soon as Chet walked away from his desk, Sam headed after him, trying to not look too obvious. He set off at a brisk pace, one that Sam had difficulty matching. When he turned the corner, Sam jogged to catch up, only to discover he was gone. A vending machine marked the dead end, and the other hallway was empty. _No one_ moved that fast.

Something pinched his neck. He winced and touched his skin, frowning as his fingers came away bloody.

Meanwhile, Dean took the elevator up a flight. He pulled out his EMF detector and strolled down the hallway, listening to it whiz and trill. As he walked by a room, a hulking grey shape filled his peripheral, and the EMF buzzed loudly.

Dean paused, backpedaled. Glancing inside the room, he saw only a dark-skinned man with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"This ain't no peep show, man!" the guy snapped, slamming the door in Dean's face.

Dean blinked.

* * *

A tall man wound a necklace around a woman's neck. "You're beautiful," he told her.

"You're sweet." She released the grip on her hair, letting it tumble over her shoulders in graceful waves. He kissed her neck. "I hate sweet."

Someone coughed. "Sorry to interrupt," Chet said. "The last guest just arrived."

"So everything's ready?" the other man asked.

"As it will ever be." Chet smirked. "Pantry's full."

"And the Winchesters?" the woman questioned.

"Suspicious, but under control," Chet replied,

"You have their blood?"

"Of course I do." Chet appeared in front of her, having moved faster than the eye could process. He held up two vials of blood, which she took. "I'm quick. Boys never even knew what hit them."

"Thank you, Mercury," the woman said.

Chet- no, _Mercury_ , smiled.

"Okay," the other man said. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

"An elephant?" Sam questioned.

The brothers walked into the lobby, where the manager was strangely absent.

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"Like, an _elephant_?" Sam repeated.

"Like, full-on Babar," Dean confirmed.

"So what the hell…" Sam trailed off.

The lobby was empty. Every guest was gone, all the couples chatting by the fire, vanished.

"Where is everybody?" Sam asked. Looking more nervous by the second, he went over to the front doors and tugged at the handles.

"Let me guess," Dean groaned. "It's locked. So what, the roaches check in, they don't check out?"

"Think about how we got here," Sam muttered, eyebrows furrowed. "That detour, on I-09? The friggin' hurricane?"

"You saying we were led here?"

"Like rats in a maze."

Deciding that standing around wouldn't do any good, they broke into the kitchens to investigate. There were no chefs, nobody working. It was peculiar for a hotel filled with guests just a moment ago. As they walked around the corner, they spotted a pot on the stove, bubbling with dark red liquid.

"Please be tomato soup," Dean prayed. He picked up the ladle and stirred it a bit. " _Please_ be tomato soup."

A stray eyeball floated to the top.

The brother grimaced and turned away.

"Motel Hell," Dean mumbled.

Then Sam caught sight of a door. Built into the wall where it shouldn't be, with a padlock securing it. He approached the door, wary of the contents after the bloody soup they'd just seen.

He leaned down to peer inside.

A hand slammed against the window. Sam gasped.

" _Help us! Get us out!_ " a man cried within. Several other people began to shout inside the room, banging on the door.

Sam yanked at the handle. He dug into his pockets and fumbled for his lockpick.

"Hurry up!" Dean urged.

"I'm going as fast as I-" Sam looked up and faltered. "As I can."

Dean scowled. "There's somebody behind me, isn't there?"

Two men dragged the brothers from the kitchen, struggling the whole time, until shoving them into a large dining area and locking the doors. The room was named 'Grand Ballroom', which most likely shouldn't exist in a four-star hotel like this.

A group of people stood inside. They wandered around the tables, chatting and drinking, and each wore a nametag. Included was the Indian woman from earlier, and the desk manager.

Sam scanned the tags, recalling what each one meant.

Ganesh. An elephant-headed deity in Hinduism.

Odin. The king of Asgard in Norse mythology.

Kali. A many-armed goddess in Hindu/Buddhist myths known as the Destroyer.

Baron Samedi. A Haitian spirit who ruled over death.

"Something tells me this isn't a Shriner convention," Dean muttered.

From around a corner, the desk manager wheeled out a tray of delicacies. His nametag read 'Mercury'. Roman god of thieves, communication, and travels. He stood straight, then plucked the lid from the tray. "Dinner is served."

A severed head lay in the center, roasted and scorched with its eyes wide open. The gods applauded.

Suddenly a spotlight landed on the brothers, blinding them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Baldur spoke. Son of Odin, god of purity and warmth. "Our guests of honor have arrived." He tapped his wine glass, causing the others to settle down. Each god took a seat at the table. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Well, in all my centuries, I never thought I'd see this."

Sam and Dean took a seat also, separate from the gods and facing inwards, so they couldn't communicate well without being spotted.

"This many gods, under one roof," Baldur continued, looking quite proud.

"Gods?" Sam whispered out of the corner of his mouth. The brothers exchanged a glance.

"Before we get down to brass tacks, some ground rules: No slaughtering each other. Curb your wrath. Oh, and, keep your hands off the local virgins. We're trying to keep a low profile here."

"Oh, we are so, _so_ screwed," Sam whispered.

"Now, we all know why we're here," Baldur said. "The Judeo-Christian Apocalypse looms over us. I know we've all had our little disagreements in the past, but the time has come to put those aside and look toward the future. Cause if we don't, we won't _have_ one."

The gods began to scowl, shaking their heads.

"Now, we do have two very valuable bargaining chips-" Baldur pointed to the brothers. All gazes turned to them. "Michael and Lucifer's vessels. The question is - what do we do now? Anybody have any bright ideas, speak up. This is a safe room."

One god, whose nametag read 'Zao Shen' rose to his feet. He spoke in rapid-fire Mandarin, waving his arms to emphasize his point. "我们做什么? 我们杀了他们." _What do we do? We kill them._

"Oh, I don't like his tone," Dean mumbled.

"Kill them?" another god scoffed. "Why? So the angels here can bring them back again?"

"I don't know what everybody's getting so worked up about," Odin drawled. He leaned back in his seat. "This is just a couple of angels having a slap fight. It's no Armageddon. Everybody knows, when the world comes to an end, the Great Serpent Jormungandr rises up, and I, myself, will be eaten by a big wolf."

Zao Shen huffed and muttered, "开始了..." _Here we go._

"Oh yeah?" Odin challenged. "And why is that? Because your beliefs are so much more realistic? The whole world's getting carried around on the back of giant turtle. Give me a break."

"不要嘲笑我的世界龟," Zao Shen spat. _Don't mock my world turtle._

"What are you gonna do about it?" Odin growled, rising from his seat.

Face contorted, Zao Shen jabbed his finger at the other and snapped, "我打算送你去打包 Valhalla!" _I'm gonna send you packing to Valhalla!_

"Watch your mouth when you talk to me, boy!"

"男孩? 我比你大." _Boy? I'm older than you._

"No one's ever proved that."

While they argued, Sam and Dean slowly got to their feet, inching towards the doorway, when the chandelier collapsed in front of them with a crash. The gods fell silent, glancing over at them.

"Stay," Kali ordered. She rose to her full height, bronze skin gleaming under the lamplight. Her appearance was utterly alluring, captivating, dangerous. "We have to fight. The archangels - the only thing they understand is violence. This ends in blood. There is no other way. It's them, or us."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Mercury spoke up. He sounded tentative, his earlier confidence absent. "We haven't even tried talking to them."

Kali tilted her head, aiming a dark glare in his direction.

Mercury choked. He reached up for his collar and tugged at it, gagging on something invisible. He bent forward, blood dribbling from his lips.

"Kali," Baldur interrupted.

Mercury sucked in a breath, panting.

"Who asked you?" Kali inquired.

Trembling, Mercury bowed his head and wiped the blood from his lips.

"Can't we all just get along?" The doors swung open with a bang, and in strolled a familiar face.

Gabriel spread his arms wide, expression that of a scolding parent.

"Gabr-" Sam started, but Gabriel discreetly flicked his fingers, and the brothers fell silent.

The archangel tutted. "Sam. Dean. It's always wrong place, worst time with you muttonheads, huh?"

"Loki," Baldur growled.

Gabriel's stare snapped to him. "Baldur," he greeted. "Good seeing you, too. I guess my invitation got lost in the mail."

"Why are you here?" Baldur demanded.

"To talk about the elephant in the room." As Ganesh began to stand, Gabriel added, "not you. The Apocalypse. We can't stop it, gang." His eyes roamed over Mercury, with his red-stained lips and terrified expression. "But first things first." He wheeled around to face the brothers. "The adults need to have a little conversation. Check you later."

He snapped his fingers.

The brothers appeared in an empty hotel room. They both stood there for a moment, shocked.

"Okay," Dean breathed. "Did that… holy crap."

"Yeah, tell me about," Sam replied, equally shook up. "By the way, next time I say 'let's keep driving', uh, let's keep driving."

"Okay, yeah. Next time."

"Uh, alright, so what's our next move?"

Dean scratched his head, chuckling humorlessly. "I-I-I don't know. We grab those poor saps out of the freezer, I guess - bust 'em out. Gank a few freaks along the way if we're lucky."

"And when are you ever lucky?" Gabriel drawled. He lounged in a chair beside the door, smirking.

"Oh, you know what?" Dean snapped. "Bite me, Gabriel."

"Maybe later, big boy."

"I should have known," Dean continued. "I mean, this had your stink all over it from the jump."

"You think _I'm_ behind this? Please." Gabriel hopped to his feet. "I'm the Costner to your Houston. I'm here to _save_ your ass."

"You want to pull us out the fire?" Dean questioned.

"Bingo." Gabriel sobered. "Those gods are either gonna dust you or use you as bait. Either way, you're uber-boned."

"Wow, cause a couple of months ago, you were telling us that we need to play our roles." Dean narrowed his eyes. " _You_ were uber-boning _us_."

"Ooh, the end is still nigh." Gabriel slipped by them. "Michael and Lucifer are gonna dance the lambada. But not tonight. Not here."

Dean glanced over at Sam, then back at the archangel. "And why do you care?"

"I don't. Care." Gabriel looked away from Dean's probing stare. "But... me and Kali, we, uh... had a thing. Chick was all hands. What can I say? I'm sentimental."

"Do they have a chance?" Sam asked. "Against Satan?"

"Really, Sam?" Dean said.

"You got a better idea, Dean?" Sam shot back.

"It's a bad idea," Gabriel countered. "Lucifer's gonna turn them into finger paint. So let's get going while the going's good."

"Okay, great. Why don't you just zap us out of here, then?" Dean asked.

"Would if I could. But Kali's gotcha by the short and curlies." At their questioning looks, he clarified, "it's a blood spell. You boys are on a leash."

"What does that mean?"

"Means it's time for a little of the old black magic." Gabriel conjured up a bottle and sprayed it into his mouth, like a bad sitcom.

"Okay. Well, we're gonna take the hors d'oeuvres in the freezer with us."

"Forget it," Gabriel argued. "It's gonna be hard enough sneaking _you_ mooks outta here."

"They called you Loki, right?" Dean asked, realizing something. "Which means they don't really know who you are."

"Told you - I'm in witness protection."

"Well, then how about you do what we say-" Dean threatened, "-or we tell the uh, the Legion of Doom about your secret identity? They don't seem like a real pro-angel type of crowd."

"I'll take your voices away," Gabriel retorted.

"We'll write it down."

"I'll cut off your hands."

"Then people are gonna be asking, 'why are you guys running around with no hands?'" Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting for the next clever reply.

It never came. "Fine."

* * *

Kali stood in front of a mirror. She slipped off her red top, revealing a multitude of jewelry and other fine metals adorning her wrists and neck. As she reached up to comb her hands through her hair, the lights went out.

Two candles lit up on the table, now covered in delicacies. Gabriel stood beside it, a rose held gently in one hand.

"Bonjour, mon amour," Gabriel drawled.

"Leave," Kali replied shortly.

"You always did play hard to get."

"I've moved on," she told him.

"I noticed. Baldur? Really?"

Kali turned back to the mirror, where she could still keep an eye on him. "Baldur's uncomplicated."

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean walked into the lobby, heading for the kitchen, when screaming reached their ears. Several gods were dragging a crying man between them. The brothers ducked behind a wall.

They grabbed him and set him on the front desk, swiping stuff out of the way as they went.

"No! No, stop!" the man shrieked. He locked eyes with Dean.

Dean moved to help, but Sam yanked him back. "It's too late," Sam hissed.

The gods restrained him, each taking an arm or leg. The man wailed. A butcher knife glinted.

They chopped his head off, silencing his screams.

* * *

"I never took you for the type."

"Romantic?" Gabriel asked. He poured a drink.

"Pathetic," Kali corrected.

Gabriel raised his glass. "You're the one who called me here."

"Because I thought you might take this seriously."

"I'm taking this seriously," Gabriel said, dropping the smirk. "Ship's sinking. Time to get off. I mean, screw this marble. Let's go check out Pandora."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Kali replied.

Gabriel set down his drink and stepped forward. "Afraid it does."

"If we fight-"

"You die," Gabriel finished.

"And what makes you such an expert?"

"I've tussled with those winged ass-monkeys once or twice," Gabriel admitted. His tone took on a pleading edge. "Kali, no more tricks. I'm begging you. Don't do this."

"I have to," Kali whispered.

Gabriel bowed his head. A soft chuckle escaped him, but it held no humor. "Can't blame me for trying." He allowed himself a coy smile. "Still love me?"

"No." Then Kali grabbed him by his collar and pulled him into a heated kiss.

* * *

People cried out, their panicked voices muffled behind the thick iron door. Sam tried to unlock it, but Zao Shen appeared from around the corner and grabbed Dean, flinging him back into a rack of cutlery. He wrapped his hands around Sam's neck and squeezed.

From behind, Dean stabbed a wooden stake between the god's shoulder blades. Zao Shen groaned as his skin boiled, and he slumped over, dead.

"Where the hell is Gabriel?" Dean demanded.

* * *

Gabriel held Kali close, one hand curled into her hair and the other slowly, slowly reaching for the two vials of blood that rested on the dresser. She laced her arms around his neck. His fingers brushed the vials.

Pain, as though he had been stung by a bee, burned his skin. He jerked back, exclaiming, "ow!"

"You must take me for a fool..." Kali murmured. "... Gabriel." She held up her bloodied fingers. "You're bound to me - now and forever."

* * *

Sam and Dean stumbled back into the Grand Ballroom, shoved by two gods. Gabriel looked up at Kali.

"How long have you known?"

"Long enough," Kali replied.

The brothers were forced into seats right next to a grim-faced Gabriel.

"How's the rescue going?" Dean asked.

Gabriel glanced over at him. He smiled sarcastically.

"Well. Surprise, surprise," Kali announced. "The trickster has tricked us."

"Kali, don't," Gabriel urged.

"You're mine now." Kali eased herself into a sitting position in Gabriel's lap. "And you have something I want."

Baldur looked away as she traced her fingers down his chest, reaching into his jacket. She retrieved the silver angel blade from him. Holding it up before the other god's, their eyes narrowed, and the tension heightened.

"An archangel's blade," Kali murmured. "From the archangel... Gabriel."

Gabriel gritted his teeth. Betrayal flickered in his warm brown eyes, before his entire demeanor shifted to the taunting, jesting front that everyone recognized.

"Okay!" he exclaimed. "So I got wings. Like Kotex. But that doesn't make me any less right about Lucifer."

"He's lying," Kali snapped. "He's a spy."

"I'm not a spy," Gabriel countered. "I'm a runaway. I'm trying to save you." He leaned forward. "I know my brother, Kali. He should scare the living crap out of you. _You can't beat him_. I've skipped ahead, seen how this story ends."

" _Your_ story. Not ours. Westerners - I swear, the sheer arrogance." Kali glared at him. "You think you're the only ones on Earth? You pillage and you butcher in your God's name. But you're not the only religion - and he's not the only God. And now you think you can just rip the planet apart? You're wrong," Kali told him. Her voice cracked, but not from passion. From heartbreak. "There are _billions_ of us. And we were here first. If anyone gets to end this world... it's me." She cupped his face with one hand. "I'm sorry."

She stabbed him in the chest.

Gabriel jerked. He gazed up at Kali, eyes gleaming with confusion and fear. Kali withheld a sob.

The knife wound glowed. Gabriel tipped back his head and screamed, white light shining from his eyes and mouth, and then the glow cut off, and he went still.

Sam and Dean stared at Gabriel's body in shock.

Kali pulled away. Blood blossomed on Gabriel's shirt. The gods were silent; some in awe that angels could die, most in fear of Kali.

"This is crazy," Mercury whispered.

"They _can_ die," Kali said. "We can kill Lucifer."

Dean exhaled shakily, then got to his feet, despite the look that Sam gave him. "Alright, you primitive screwheads. Listen up."

"Are you out of your mind?" Sam hissed.

"I'm out of options," Dean replied.

He turned back to the assembled gods. "Now, on any other given day I'd be doing my damnedest to uh, kill you, you filthy, murdering chimps. But, uh, hey, desperate times." He walked over to the back of the room, past Gabriel's corpse, and to the bottles of wine that lined the shelf. "So even though I'd love nothing better than to slit your throats, you... dicks... I'm gonna help you." He put his back to them, allowing himself to look afraid for a few moments. He was completely ad-libbing, and he was terrified. He poured a drink, trying to steady his trembling hands. "I'm gonna help you ice the Devil."

From his seat, Sam leveled Dean with a glare.

"And then we can all get back to ganking each other, like normal." Dean swished his glass, turning back to face them. "You want Lucifer? Well, dude's not in the yellow pages. But me and Sam, we can get him here."

"How?" Kali asked.

"First, you let those main courses go. _Then_ we talk." Dean steeled himself. "We can either take on the Devil together, or you lame-ass bitches can eat me."

Sam's expression was one of abject horror.

"Literally," Dean added.

* * *

"Come on everybody, let's go," Dean ushered. The poor people from the vault streamed out the front doors, whimpering and crying out in desperation. "Let's go, let's go. Go, go, go, get outta here!"

Car engines revved as people fled, pulling out until the parking lot was empty, save for the Impala.

"Psst. Dean."

Dean paused. He frowned at his car.

"D-Don't look at me," Gabriel hissed, crouching in the back seat. "Act natural."

Lowering his gaze and walking in what he hoped was a convincing act, Dean jumped into the driver's seat and shut the door.

"Man, there is nothing natural about this at all," Dean snapped, as soon as he was safely inside. "I thought you were dead."

"You think I'd give Kali my _real_ sword?" Gabriel scoffed. "That thing can kill me."

"Then what do they have in there?"

"A fake," Gabriel replied, grinning. "Made it out of a can of diet orange slice. So, uh… go snag our blood, wouldja?"

"What?"

"I heard you in there. Kali likes you. You can get close. Lift the plasma, then we vamoose."

"No," Dean said. Gabriel frowned, taken aback. "Hand over the real blade. Better yet, why don't you sack up and help us take down Lucifer?"

"You can't be serious."

"Deadly."

"Since when are you butt-buddies with a bunch of monsters?" Gabriel demanded. "That's all they are to you, aren't they?"

"Alright, you know what? Sam was right," Dean admitted. "It's nuts. But it's the best idea I've heard. So unless you have a better one…"

Gabriel stared at him, gauging if he was serious or not, then drummed on the leather seat. "Well, good luck with that. Me, I'm blowing Jonestown. Those lemmings wanna run off a cliff, that's _their_ business-"

"I see right through you," Dean interrupted. "You know that? The smartass shell, the whole 'I could give a crap' thing. Believe me; it takes one to know one."

"That so?"

"Yes. And maybe those freaks in there aren't your blood, but they _are_ your family."

"They just stabbed me in the friggin' heart!" Gabriel cried.

"Maybe, but you still give a crap about them, don't you?"

"Dean-"

"Now, they're gonna die in there without you," Dean told him.

A pause. "I can't kill my brother," Gabriel admitted softly.

"'Can't' or 'won't'?"

Gabriel looked away, his expression pained.

"That's what I thought."

* * *

"So you're going to summon Lucifer," Kali drawled.

"Sort of," Sam replied. "I just need you to squeegee some stuff from my ribs, and he'll come running."

"Breaking them would be easier," Kali suggested.

Sam gulped.

Dean tossed open the doors. "Show's over." At their questioning looks, he continued, "sword's a fake. And Gabriel? He's still kicking. I hate to break it to you, sister, but you've been tricked."

If Dean wasn't paying attention, he would have missed the flicker of relief in Kali's eyes.

* * *

 _Ding._

Mercury looked up from the book he was reading at the front desk. The welcoming smile he wore quickly faded.

"Checking in," Lucifer said.

"Lucifer," Mercury greeted shakily. "Thanks for coming."

"Oh, you did right, calling me," Lucifer told him. His vessel was crumbling, chipping away. Little bloody spots marred his face, and accompanied with the dark glint in his eyes, it made him look like a walking nightmare.

"It's just…" Mercury hesitated, glancing over to make sure no one was listening. "The way the talk is heading in there, it's... it's insane."

Lucifer nodded. "You know, I never understood you pagans," he admitted. "You're such... petty little things. Always fighting, always happy to sell out your own kind. No wonder you forfeited this planet to us." He pointed at Mercury, who balked under his stare. " _You_ are worse than humans. You're worse than demons. And yet, you claim to be gods."

The patronizing smile vanished. He tilted his head, wrapping his power around the bones in Mercury's neck. In one swift motion, he twisted his fingers, and Mercury collapsed, his head jerking to the side with a _crunch_.

"And they call _me_ prideful," Lucifer mused.

* * *

The lights began to flicker. The chandeliers swayed in invisible winds, the lamps buzzing and a faint rumbling filling the room.

"What's happening?" Baldur wondered aloud.

Outside, Odin screamed. Lucifer stomped on his skull. Another god lunged at him; Lucifer splattered his insides on the wall. Blood soaked his hands and clothes. Fallen pagans littered the halls, creating obstacles for Lucifer to step over and kick as he passed by.

"It's him," Sam breathed.

"How?" Kali asked.

"Does it matter?" Dean snapped. "Shazam us out of here, would you?"

"We can't," Baldr muttered. He moved in front of the group, facing off with the archangel as Lucifer stepped inside.

"Of course you can't," Lucifer agreed. "You didn't say 'mother may I?' Sam, Dean, good to see you again."

"Baldr, don't," Kali warned.

"You think you own the planet?" Baldr snarled. He lunged at Lucifer. "What gives you the right-?!"

Lucifer's fist struck out, faster than Baldr could comprehend, smashing through his ribs and emerging, bloody and gory, on the other side. "No one _gives_ us the right," Lucifer told him quietly. "We _take_ it." Then he yanked his arm out, and Baldr collapsed, dead.

Kali, instead of retreating, stood taller. Fire burst to life at her fingertips, wreathing her arms and engulfing her fists in burning heat. Face contorting, she held out one arm. Flames shot from her hand, setting the archangel aflame and cloaking his body in white-hot light. Fire billowed outward, prompting Sam and Dean to leap behind a fallen table and duck for cover.

The roaring flames died down.

Lucifer remained standing. He didn't appear to be affected by the heat at all. He only watched patiently as Kali stormed towards him, but before she could strike, he hit her across the face and sent her flying.

"Are you okay?" Sam whispered to Dean.

"Not really," Gabriel replied. He crouched beside them. His playful smirk was absent, replaced with grim determination. "Better late than never, huh?" He pressed something into Dean's hands. A DVD. "Guard this with your life." Then he jumped out from behind the table.

Before Lucifer could kill Kali, an invisible force smacked into him and sent him tumbling back, colliding with the far wall. He groaned and stumbled to his feet.

Gabriel stood over Kali, blocking Lucifer from her. He held the true archangel blade loosely in one hand. "Luci... I'm home."

Surprise and even a hint of excitement flickered across Lucifer's face. He began to walk over to his younger brother, lifting his arms slightly as if to offer a hug.

Gabriel brandished his blade, eyes narrowed. "Not this time."

The surprise faded. Lucifer lowered his arms, a soft noise of disappointment escaping him that the others were unable to hear. He stepped back.

Keeping his eye on Lucifer, Gabriel helped Kali to her feet. "Guys," he called. "Get her out of here."

The brothers crept out from behind the table and headed for the door, Kali in front. Gabriel guarded them until they escaped.

"Over a girl," Lucifer muttered unhappily. The vulnerability in his expression was gone. "Gabriel, really? I mean, I knew you were slumming, but... I hope you didn't catch anything."

"Lucifer," Gabriel said. "You're my brother, and I love you. But you are a great big bag of dicks."

"What did you just say to me?" Lucifer inquired, taking a step closer.

Gabriel pointed the blade at him. "Look at yourself. 'Boo-hoo. Daddy was mean to be, so I'm gonna smash up all his toys.'"

"Watch your tone," Lucifer warned.

"Play the victim all you want, but you and me? We know the truth. Dad loved _you_ best. More than Michael. More than me." Gabriel pressed his lips together. "Then he brought the new baby home, and you couldn't handle it. So all this is just a great big temper tantrum. Time to grow up."

Outside, Kali asserted, "I'm not getting in that thing."

"Just get in the car, princess," Dean snapped. The three piled into the Impala and drove off.

"Gabriel, if you're doing this for Michael-" Lucifer started.

"Screw him," Gabriel interrupted. "If he were standing here, I'd shiv _his_ ass too."

Lucifer scoffed in disbelief. "You disloyal-"

"Oh, I'm loyal," Gabriel corrected. "To _them_."

"Who? These so-called gods?"

"To _people_ , Lucifer. People."

"So you're willing to die for a pile of cockroaches?" If Gabriel was paying closer attention, he would have seen the pain in his eyes at the idea of Gabriel dying. "Why?"

"Because Dad was right. They _are_ better than us."

"They are broken, flawed abortions!" Lucifer snarled.

"Damn right they're flawed," Gabriel agreed. "But a lot of them try. To do better. To forgive. And you should see the Spearmint Rhino. I've been riding the pine a long time, but I'm in the game now." His tone now shifted to something assertive. "And I'm not on your side, _or_ Michael's. I'm on _theirs_."

Lucifer cast his gaze downward. "Brother, don't make me do this."

"No one makes us do anything," Gabriel replied.

"I know you think you're doing the right thing, Gabriel," Lucifer murmured. "But I know where your heart truly lies."

Lucifer whirled around and caught Gabriel's blade moments before it buried itself in his back, twisting it down and stabbing Gabriel in the stomach.

"Here," Lucifer whispered.

Behind him, the mirage shimmered and vanished. Gabriel choked, clutching at Lucifer's arm as he swayed on his feet.

"Amateur hocus-pocus," Lucifer told him. "Don't forget - you learned all your tricks from _me_ , little brother."

Gabriel made a strangled noise, real terror glittering in his hazel eyes. Pain and desperation wiped his joking mask away. He gripped Lucifer's sleeve.

Lucifer jerked the blade upwards.

White light flamed from his eyes and mouth. Gabriel arched his back and shrieked, his whole body shaking from the force of the power raging inside him.

The light went out.

Gabriel's grip slackened. He slumped to the ground, eyes closed.

Lucifer staggered back from his body. He took in a shuddering breath. He exhaled sharply, grief-stricken gaze fixed on his brother's wings, burned to ashes on the floor around him.

The blade slipped from his grasp.

* * *

"Gabriel wanted you to guard _this_ with your life?" Sam questioned.

The brothers watched the video recording on their computer. It consisted of a scantily clad woman with romantic music playing in the background.

"Maybe he's a fan," Dean suggested. "It is a good one."

" _Room service_ ," someone called out in the video. From behind the door swept in Gabriel, his hair slicked back and wearing an unbuttoned polo. " _I've got the kielbasa you ordered_ _._ "

"What the hell's going on?" Sam asked, staring at the scene in disgust. Gabriel and the woman began to kiss aggressively.

Suddenly, Gabriel turned and looked directly at them. " _Sam. Dean. You're probably wondering what the hell's going on_." He ripped off the fake mustache. " _Well - if you're watching this, I'm dead. Oh, please_!" he exclaimed. " _Stop sobbing. It's embarrassing for all of us. Without me, you've zero shot at killing Lucifer. Sorry. But you can trap him. The Cage you sprung Lucifer from? It's still down there. And maybe, just maybe, you can shove his ass back in. Not that it'll be easy. You gotta get the Cage open, trick my bro back into it, and, uh, oh yeah - avoid Michael and the God Squad. But hey, details, right? And here's the big secret_." He leaned close. " _Lucifer himself doesn't even know. But the key to the Cage? It's out there. Actually, it's_ keys - _plural. Four keys. Well, four_ rings. _From the horsemen_."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

" _You get 'em all, you got the Cage. Can't say I'm betting on you boys, but, uh, hey! I've been wrong before. And, Dean... you were right_ ," Gabriel admitted. " _I_ was _afraid to stand up to my brother. Not anymore. So this is me, standing up_." His lips curved into the classic trickster grin. " _And this is me, lying down_."

Wincing, Sam closed the laptop before it could get any worse.

"Horsemen, huh?" Dean muttered. "Well, we got War's. We nicked Famine's. That's two rings down. To collect all four, all we need is Pestilence and Death."

"Oh, is that all?"

"It's a plan."

Sam sighed, nodding.

The brothers got into the Impala and drove off, with no clear destination and an uncertain future looming ahead.

* * *

A beat-up car ground to a halt before a small store. The door creaked open, and a sickly man stepped out.

The cashier absently scanned a newspaper, talking about the spread of influenza and lack of a vaccine. He watched a fly zip by his head. Slowly, hand clenched around the flyswatter, he prepared to kill the bug, but the door ringing distracted him, allowing the fly to escape.

A man stepped inside. He was pale and sweaty, and he seemed on the verge of collapse. He sneezed into his hand. The cashier grimaced.

Running his slimy hands over various products, he stopped at a rack and picked up a box of medicine. He coughed, spraying mucus and phlegm into the air.

"What the hell?" the cashier whispered.

"Does this stuff make you drowsy?" the man asked, sniffling. He held up a box of flu arrest. "I got a lot of driving to do."

"Blue ones make you sleepy," the cashier replied uneasily. "Red and orange ones are okay for daytime."

The man walked up to the counter and promptly sneezed on the cashier.

The latter gritted his teeth, removing his now germ-infested glasses.

"This is - this is awful," the man groaned. Flies buzzed around their heads as he went into another round of hacking coughs.

Once he'd bought the medicine, Pestilence dropped the sick act. He jumped into his car, whose Nevada license plate read 'SIKN TRD'. The green ring on his finger glinted as he started the engine, then drove off down the road.

Gathering from seemingly nowhere, flies began to spiral in his car, filling up the space and buzzing, always buzzing buzzing buzzing in a massive black swarm that blotted out the windshield.

Pestilence smiled.


	8. 6x20 - The Man Who Would Be King

**You know, I've been here for a very long time. I remember many things.**

 **I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little grey fish heave itself up on the beach. And an older brother saying, "Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish."**

 **I remember the Tower of Babel. All 37 feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. And when it fell, they howled, "Divine wrath!" But, come on, dried dung can only be stacked so high.**

 **I remember Cain and Abel, David and Goliath, Sodom and Gomorrah.**

 **And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event. Remarkable, because it never came to pass. It was averted by two boys, an old drunk, and a fallen angel. The grand story. And we ripped up the ending, and the rules, and destiny, leaving nothing but freedom and choice. Which is all well and good, except...**

"But what if I've made the wrong choice?" Castiel wonders. He sits alone on a park bench, the ground frosted and his fingers numb from cold. "How am I supposed to know?

I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you my story.

Let me tell you everything."

* * *

"Hello, Dean."

Castiel appeared in the passenger seat of the Impala, startling Dean Winchester, who smacked the wheel in his frustration.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine, how about you?"

"Just wanted to check in," Cas told him.

"So any word on Satan Jr. being alive?"

"I'm looking, believe me. I just don't understand how Crowley could've tricked me."

"Well, he's a tricky son of a bitch, that's how," Dean assured him. "Doesn't matter. But if he is up and kicking, then what does matter is finding him, ripping his head off, and shoving it up his ass."

Cas nodded. "What about you? Have you found anything?"

"No, nothing yet," Dean replied after a pause.

"Where's Sam?" Cas asked, glancing at the empty back seat.

"He's keeping busy. He's tracking a Jinn in Omaha as we speak. I'm headed out there right now to meet up with him."

"I'd come if I could-" Cas started.

"Yeah, no I get it," Dean interrupted. "No worries. But Cas, you'll call, right? If you get into real trouble?"

Cas met his stern gaze with a blank one of his own. He nodded and vanished.

* * *

Castiel strode into the warehouse where Crowley tortured his supernatural creatures. He glanced over a cage, where a monster was chained and gagged. On the operating table lay Eve's corpse, blood splattering the plastic covering her and her head split open. Crowley wore a cooking apron that was soaked in various fluids.

"Howdy, partner," Crowley greeted.

"What've you found?" Castiel asked.

"Found a lot of things. For example, Eve's brain? Dead as a tin kipper. And yet-" Crowley reached into her cut open stomach, pulling out a slimy mess of little translucent orbs with his gloved hands. "-for some reason, she keeps laying eggs."

Castiel walked over to the table. He grimaced at Eve's state. She was covered in different colored blood, her skin was pale as a sheet, and slices marred her body, ranging from gashes to cuts.

"Watch this," Crowley said. He picked up a steel rod, whose tip had been roasting in an open flame, and poked Eve's brain with it.

The monster in the cage released a muffled scream and began to shake, straining against his bonds and grunting behind the gag.

"Chocula here feels every tickle."

"What is that good for?" Cas questioned.

"Apart from the obvious erotic value, you got me."

"You said Eve could open the door to Purgatory," Cas accused, annoyed with the demon's antics.

"Correct. I did. And I'm confident that she could have-" Crowley's expression shifted from casual interest to fury in a split second, "-IF SHE WAS STILL ALIVE! Single best chance to get over the rainbow, and the Winchesters killed her."

"It was unavoidable."

"You screwed up, Cas," Crowley spat. "You let the hounds mangle the pheasant and now I am up to my elbows in it."

"What is your point?"

"The point is, you're distracted, and that makes me nervous."

"I am holding up my end," Cas asserted.

"Ah, yes. But is that all you're holding, huh?" Crowley stepped forward, tipping his head. "See, the stench of that Impala is all over your overcoat, angel." He moved back, continuing to talk despite Cas' mutinous look. "I thought we'd agreed. No more nights out with the boys."

"I spoke with Dean," Cas admitted. "I needed to know what they know."

"About what? About me, maybe?" Crowley's voice rose in volume with his anger. "Because I happen to have it on good authority that your two little pets are currently trying to hunt me down!" His forehead smoothed out, the all-business smile returning. "Forgive me, but I think your might have a little conflict of interest here." In one fluid motion, he spun the needle around and stabbed it into Eve's brain.

The poor monster shrieked.

* * *

 **Crowley had a point, of course. My interest was conflicted. I still considered myself the Winchesters' guardian. After all, they taught me how to stand up, what to stand for...**

 _A vivid memory of Lucifer in Sam's body, snapping his fingers, and then, indescribable agony-_

 **... and what generally happens to you when you do.**

 **I was done. I was over.**

 **And then, the most extraordinary thing happened.**

 **I was put back. And we had won. We stopped Armageddon... but at a terrible cost. And so I knew what I had to do next.**

 **Once again, I went to harrow hell to free Sam from Lucifer's Cage. It was nearly impossible...**

 _Pulling Sam's body from between the bars, the archangels shrieking at him furiously from within, dropping Sam on the sidewalk healthy yet not entirely whole-_

 **... but I was so full of confidence, of mission. I see now that was arrogance, hubris. Because of course I hadn't truly raised Sam- not all of him. Sometimes, we're lucky enough to be given a warning. This should've been mine.**

* * *

As Crowley yanked the needle from Eve's brain once more, he turned to glare at Castiel. "Please. I'm begging you, Castiel. Just kill the Winchesters."

"No."

"Fine. Then I'll do it myself."

"If you kill them, I'll just bring them back again," Cas countered.

"No, you won't," Crowley replied smugly. "Not where I'll put them. Trust me."

"I said no." Cas sighed. "Don't worry about them."

"Don't worry about-?" Crowley exclaimed, incredulous. "What, like Lucifer didn't worry? Or Michael? Or Lilith, or Alastair or Azazel didn't worry? Am I the only game piece on the board who _doesn't_ underestimate THOSE DENIM-WRAPPED NIGHTMARES!?"

"Just find Purgatory," Cas told him coolly. "If you don't, we will both die. Again, and again, until the end of time. The Winchesters won't get to you." He turned and began to walk away.

"Let them get to me!" Crowley snarled. "I'LL TEAR THEIR FRIGGIN HEARTS OUT!"

* * *

 _~ Singer's Salvage Yard ~_

"Gotta tell ya, Redd," Bobby said, regarding the demon below the devil's trap with faint appreciation. "For a filthy, lower-than-snake-spit Hell spawn, you seemed to turn yourself into a damn fine hunter. I don't know whether to kill ya or kiss ya."

Beside him, Sam leaned against a table, arms crossed.

"Oh, please kill me," Redd muttered.

"That was you that dug out that nest of vamps back in Swan Valley, wasn't it?" Bobby asked.

"That was nice work," Sam commented.

The demon grinned at him. "Eight of them on one go, roped and tied."

"And then you brought 'em to Crowley, right?" Bobby continued.

"Read the papers, redneck," Redd huffed. "The king is dead."

Bobby chuckled. He reached over, grabbed a flask, and poured holy water over Redd. The demon let out a cry of pain as his skin burned.

"Crowley's alive," Bobby told him. "You prove it just by being, you poor, dumb jackass. Crowley's alive, and his nets are still out. Except now he's using you schmucks to hunt his monsters."

Redd breathed a laugh. "Up yours."

Bobby waited, then, upon realizing he would get no answers from the demon, held out his hand. Sam pressed the demon knife into his palm. Redd's smirk vanished.

The front door swung open, and Dean stepped inside. He dropped his bags on the counter and joined the others. Glancing at the demon, he gave Sam and Bobby a subtle look.

"Redd? Where's Crowley?" Bobby asked. Silence. "No? Nothing? Okay then. Here, hang onto this for a bit." He stabbed the knife into Redd's leg.

Redd screamed. Orange light flickered around the wound, not enough to kill, but definitely enough to cause some pain. Bobby got to his feet and walked into the kitchen.

"So, what'd you tell him?" Sam was questioning Dean.

"Nothing, just relax."

"What's the hubbub?" Bobby asked.

"Saw Cas," Dean answered. "He popped in on me about two hours back."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Nothing," Dean repeated. "Told him we were on some crap monster hunt. He doesn't know that we're getting close to Crowley." He shook his head, looking conflicted. "You know, he's our friend. And we lying to him through our teeth."

"Dean-" Sam started.

"He burned the wrong bones. So Crowley tricked him."

"He's an angel," Bobby said.

"He's the Balki Bartokomous of Heaven," Dean argued. "He can make a mistake."

"Nobody's saying nothing yet."

"You think that Cas is in with Crowley?" Dean asked, incredulous. " _Crowley_?"

"Look, I'm just saying I don't know," Bobby told him. "Now, look, I hate myself for even thinking it, but I don't know."

Dean looked away.

"Look, Dean, he's our friend too, okay?" Sam's eyebrows pinched together. "And I'd die for him, I would, but look, I'm praying we're wrong here."

"But if we ain't, if there's a snowball of a snowball's chance here…" Bobby sighed. "That means we're dealing with a Superman who's gone darkside. Which means we've gotta be cautious. We've gotta be smart. And maybe stock up on some kryptonite."

A pause. "This makes you Lois Lane," Dean muttered.

"Look, one problem at a time here," Bobby replied. "We gotta find Crowley, now, before the damn fool cracks open Purgatory." With that, he strode back into the living room.

 **So they already suspected.** Castiel watched the proceedings from the corner of the room.

"Where's Crowley?" Bobby demanded.

Redd snarled, "up yours."

Bobby twisted the knife. The demon screamed.

 **And the worst part was Dean trying so hard to be loyal. With every instinct telling him otherwise.** Cas saw the emotions flitting across his face, the pain in his warm green eyes.

"I don't know where Crowley is," Redd cried.

"Are you sure about that? Cause we can twist again all the way to next summer." Bobby reached for the knife.

"No!" Redd shouted. "No, God. I never even met him. I don't deal with Crowley direct."

"Well, who do you deal with?"

"The dispatcher," Redd sobbed. "A demon named Ellsworth."

* * *

 **If there was a demon counterpart to Bobby Singer, Ellsworth would be it.**

"No, no, listen," Ellsworth snapped. The boiling blood stilled. "I don't care. I want you to get down to New Mexico and bag me that Wendigo. Hell, hang on." He moved on to another bowl. "What? Because the boss says we're done with him." The phone rang; he answered it. "FBI, Thomas speaking. Absolutely, I sent them. Thanks for calling to check. You have a nice day now. Bye-bye."

Two demons entered the room, dragging a tied-up body behind them. They dropped it off in front of his desk and began to leave.

Ellsworth hung up. "Hey, hey, no. Not in here, you friggin' yeti. Out back."

 **These demons would lead the Winchesters to Crowley. And Crowley _would_ tear their hearts out.**

Castiel grabbed the retreating demons by their faces, knocking them backwards and burning them up from the inside. He settled his gaze on Ellsworth.

The demon paled. "Oh, hell no." He opened his mouth and tried to smoke out, but Cas grabbed the smoke and shoved him back inside the vessel, then disposed of Ellsworth in the same manner of the others.

 **I had no choice. I did it to protect the boys.**

 **Or to protect myself.**

 **I don't know anymore.**

* * *

Dean, and Bobby rushed into Ellsworth's place, guns cocked and aimed. They scanned the area, but it was oddly empty. Sam emerged from one hallway.

"Clear from the back," he told them.

"Demons get tipped and bugged out?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Maybe they run from us now," Sam suggested. He chuckled. "I mean, that'd be a nice thought, right?"

"Yeah, if that's what happened," Bobby muttered, walking off to check the place again.

 **Hiding. Lying. Sweeping away evidence. And my motives used to be so pure. After supposedly saving Sam, I finally returned to Heaven.**

 **Of course, there isn't one Heaven. Each soul generates its own paradise. I favor the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man, who drowned in a bathtub in 1953.**

A rippling, colorful kite drifted across the bright sky, dipping and bobbing with the wind. The grass, green and vibrant beneath his feet, glowed with health and life. Flowers poked out of the bushes, and towering trees crowded the garden.

When Castiel turned around, he saw his siblings. Lined up in neat rows, each wearing identical suits, they gawked at him in shock. He smiled.

"You're alive," Rachel breathed.

"Yes," he replied.

"Castiel, we saw Lucifer destroy you."

"Well, I came back."

"But Lucifer? Michael?" she questioned.

"They're gone," Cas said. He stepped forward.

"It was God, wasn't it?" she asked eagerly. The other angels drew nearer, eyes wide with anticipation.

"No. It was the Winchesters. They brought down the Apocalypse."

"But you beat the archangels, Castiel," Rachel urged. "God brought you back. He chose you, Cas. To lead us."

"No." Cas shook his head. "No one leads us anymore. We're all free to make our own choices, and to choose our own fates."

As if she didn't hear him, Rachel glanced to the side, then back up at him. "What does God want?"

"God wants you to have freedom," Cas answered.

"But what does he want us to do with it?"

Cas sighed.

 **If I knew then what I know now, I might've said, "It's simple. Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it." Those first weeks back in Heaven were surprisingly difficult. Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like teaching poetry to fish.**

 **And then, there was Raphael.**

Castiel walked into someone's Heaven. When he rounded the corner, he saw two of his brothers guarding a third occupant inside.

"You came," Raphael drawled. His voice was low and commanding. He set down his glass. "I appreciate the courage that takes."

As Cas stepped inside, he glanced around the room. Everything in Heaven held a blurred, faint quality, as if it wasn't sure whether to exist or not. The room was filled with polished mahogany bookshelves, a deep crimson rug, and curving, plush chairs shoved into corners. Raphael was seated in one of these chairs. On the wall, a framed American flag hung.

"Whose Heaven is this?" Cas wondered aloud.

"Ken Lay's. I'm borrowing it."

"I still question his admittance here," Cas said.

"He's devout," Raphael replied. "Trumps everything."

"What do you want?" Cas took a seat across from the archangel.

"Tomorrow, I've called for a full assembly of the Holy Host. You'll kneel before me and pledge allegiance to the flag, alright?"

"And what flag is that?" Cas asked.

Raphael blinked at him, slow and deliberate. "Me, Castiel. Allegiance to me."

"Are you joking?" Cas snapped.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Raphael's expression was stiff and carefully blank as he regarded the other angel.

"You never look like you're joking."

"You rebelled. Against God, Heaven, and me. Now you will atone." Raphael leaned back. "We'll start by freeing Lucifer and Michael from their Cage. And then we'll get our show back on the road."

"Raphael, no," Cas urged. "The Apocalypse doesn't have to be fought."

"Of course it does. It's God's will."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's what I want," Raphael said. For the first time, faint amusement colored his tone.

"Well, the other angels won't let you."

"Are you sure? You know better than anyone, Castiel. They're soldiers. They weren't built for freedom. They were built to follow."

Cas rose from his seat, eyes narrowed. "Then I won't let you."

"Really?" Raphael tilted his head. "You?" He held out his palm, glowing white, and then Cas awoke in the garden.

Every inch of his body ached terribly, and he could feel warm liquid trickling down his face. He rolled over on his side and coughed up blood, splattering the grass with red.

 **I'm not ashamed to say that my big brother knocked me into next week.**

"Tomorrow you kneel, Castiel," Raphael said, standing over him as he struggled to get up. "Or you, and anyone with you, dies."

* * *

"The place is clean," Sam said.

"Yeah, but it's…" Bobby walked into the main room, sighing. "It's like Mr. Clean clean, you know? It's kinda OCD for your average demon."

"Yeah. So, what now?"

"We'd call Cas," Dean piped up.

"What?"

"This is usually the point where we would call Cas for help," Dean elaborated.

"We talked about this," Bobby muttered.

"No, you talked. I listened. This is Cas, guys," Dean pleaded. "I mean, when there was no one, and we were stuck, and I mean really stuck, he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat, cut and bleeding for us, so many frigging times. This is Cas. Don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt, at least?"

Sam let out a long sigh, then bowed his head. "Castiel, this is really important, okay?" he prayed. "We really need to talk to you."

Nothing.

"Castiel, come on in," Dean tried.

 **But I didn't go to them. Because I knew they would have questions I couldn't answer. Because I was afraid.**

"Cas is busy," Dean whispered, looking disappointed.

"It's alright," Sam said. "We are too." He patted Dean's shoulder. "Come on."

"Back to square one," Bobby muttered.

"Great. Well, what do we do now?" Dean asked.

"We caught one hunter demon before, we can do it again." Bobby tried to sound firm, but it came off as hopeless.

Sam walked over to the open door, running a finger down the coat rack, before turning around and catching sight of a demon. "Dean!"

The demon tackled Dean to the ground. Sam moved to help, but another demon lunged from nowhere and collided with him, knocking the gun from his hands. A third demon threw Bobby through a window pane, filling the air with sounds of shattering glass.

"Crowley says hi," one snarled, looming over Dean.

 **Crowley sent his very best. I was caught as much by surprise as the rest of them. And it left me with yet another choice: I could reveal myself and smite the demons. Of course, Crowley wouldn't like it, but on the other hand, they were my friends.**

Castiel grabbed the demon on top of Dean and burned him alive. Dean shielded his eyes from the blinding light. He appeared in front of Bobby and killed that demon too, then saved Sam.

 **For a brief moment, I was me again.**

The three hunters staggered to their feet, watching Cas warily.

"It's good to see you, Cas," Dean said.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked.

"Yeah."

"Perfect timing, Cas," Sam added.

"I'm glad I found you. I come with news."

"Yeah? What?" Dean questioned.

"I firmly believe Crowley is alive," Cas told them.

"Yeah, you think, Kojak?" Dean teased, chuckling. "Well, Bobby, what do you think about Cas saving our asses? Again?"

Bobby offered a regretful smile. "I think we owe you an apology."

"Why?" Cas asked, knowing full well why.

"We've been hunting Crowley this whole time," Sam admitted. "And keeping it from you."

"We thought you were working with him," Bobby continued.

"You thought what?" Cas said in disbelief.

"I know. It's crazy, right?" Dean laughed nervously, fearing Cas' reaction.

"It's just that you torched the wrong bones-" Bobby cut himself off. "It doesn't matter. We were wrong."

"You know," Cas said, stepping closer. "You could've just asked me."

"And we should have," Dean agreed. "We never should've doubted you. We just hope you can forgive us."

 **Wonders never cease. They trusted me again. But it was just another lie.**

"It's forgotten," Cas told them.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks Cas," Sam said.

"It is a little absurd, though," Cas remarked, smiling. "Superman going to the dark side. I'm still just Castiel."

Dean's grin faded, but when Cas looked at him, he forced another smile. "I guess we can put away the kryptonite," Dean managed.

"Exactly."

 **Of course, I didn't realize it at the time, but it as all over. Right then. Just like that.**

* * *

The laboratory doors crashed open as Castiel stormed inside. "You sent demons after them?"

"You kill my hunters. Why can't I kill yours?" Crowley asked, scowling. He was now back in his classic black suit.

"They're my friends," Cas growled. He towered over Crowley by several inches, adding to his intimidation.

"You can't have friends, not anymore," Crowley told him. "I mean, my God. You're losing it."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah," Crowley muttered sarcastically. "You're the very picture of mental health. Come on, you don't think I know what this is all about?"

"Enlighten me."

"The big lie, the Winchesters still buy it. The good Cas, the righteous Cas. And as long as they still believe it, you get to believe it. Well, I got news for you, kitten. A whore is a whore is a whore."

Castiel grabbed Crowley by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him like a butterfly to a board. "I'm only gonna say this once. If you touch a hair on their heads, I will tear it all down. Our arrangement, everything. I'm still an angel... and I will bury you." And with a flap of wings, he vanished.

Rattled, Crowley stepped away from the wall and glanced back. The solid concrete was covered in a spider web of cracks from the amount of force Castiel used. He brushed off his coat, unnerved.

 **I asked myself, "What was I doing with this vermin?"**

"This is not how synergy works!" Crowley shouted.

 **As if I didn't already know the answer.**

 **Raphael was stronger than me. And I wouldn't survive a straight fight. So I went to an old friend for help.**

Cas watched Dean rake leaves in his backyard, invisible. It was a cold autumn day, before all this happened.

 **But watching him, I stopped. Everything he sacrificed, and I was about to ask him for more.**

"Ah, Castiel," Crowley mused. "Angel of Thursday. Just not your day, is it?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I want to help me help ourselves," the demon replied, cryptic as always.

"Speak plain."

"I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That's all."

"You wanna make a deal? With me?" Cas questioned. He scowled at Crowley's smug expression. "I'm an angel, you ass. I don't have a soul to sell."

"But that's it, isn't it? That's all of it. It's the souls. It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn't it?" Crowley winked.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Raphael's head on a pike," Crowley replied. "I'm talking about happy endings for all of us, with all possible entendres intended. Come on. Just a chat."

"I have no interest in talking with you."

"Why not?" Crowley asked. "I'm very interesting. Come on. Hear me out. Five minutes, no obligations. I promise. I'll make it worth your while," he added.

Cas glanced back at Dean, who continued to rake the leaves, unbothered.

 **I was no fool. I knew who Crowley was and what he did. But I was smarter than him, stronger. I see now that I was prideful. And in all likelihood, I _was_ a fool.**

Crowley took Castiel down to Hell.

Except, it didn't look like Hell.

It was a massive line of souls, stretching down a seemingly endless hallway forever. The lighting was an odd yellow, and a number total racked up to 6,611,527,124.

"Where are we?" Cas questioned, confused at first.

"You don't recognize it, do you?" Crowley waved a hand at the line. "It's Hades, new and improved. I did it myself."

"This is Hell?"

"Yeah. See, problem with the old place was most of the inmates were masochists already. A lot of, 'Thank you sir. Can I have another hot spike up the jacksie?' But just look at them."

The last digit went up one. A droning voice over the P.A. system called, "next." The line shuffled up one step.

"No one likes waiting in line," Crowley said, grinning at his accomplishment like a third grader.

"What happens when they reach the front?"

"Nothing. They go right back to the end again." He wiggled his eyebrows. "That's efficiency."

"You have four minutes left," Cas muttered, unimpressed.

"What are planning to do about Raphael?" Crowley asked, moving forward with his pitch.

"What can I do besides submit or die?"

"Submit or die? What are you, French? How about resist?"

"I'm not strong enough and you know it," Cas refuted.

"Not on your own, you're not. But you're not on your own, are you? There's a lot of angels swooning over you. God's favorite. Buddy boy, you've got what they call sex appeal."

"Thank you," Cas said, voice dry. "Get to the point."

"Angels need leaders, so be one," Crowley told him. "Gather your army and kick the candy out of each and every angel that shows up for Raphael."

"Are you proposing that I start a civil war in Heaven?" Cas inquired, wheeling around to face the demon.

"Ding, ding, ding. Tell him what he's won, Vanna."

"You're asking me to be the next Lucifer," Cas snapped.

"Please. Lucifer was a petulant child with daddy issues." Crowley hesitated a moment, as if expecting the archangel to somehow rise from the Cage and smite him, but nothing happened. "Cas, you love God. God loves you. He brought you back. Did it occur to you that maybe he did this so you could be the new sheriff upstairs?"

A pause. Cas shook his head. "This is ridiculous. The amount power that it would take to mount a war-"

"More than any of us have ever seen, yeah," Crowley drawled. "But what if I said I knew how to go nuclear?"

"What do you mean?"

"Purgatory, my fine feathered friend. Purgatory." They rounded the corner, leaving the endless line behind. "Just think about it. An untapped oil well of every fanged, clawed soul. I mean, what's that over the year? Thirty million? Forty? Just sitting there, plump and rich for the taking."

"And how would you find it when no one ever has?" Cas questioned.

"We'll need expert help."

"From whom?"

"From experts, of course," Crowley evaded. "I know two eerily suited _Teen Beat_ models with time on their hands."

"No. Not Dean," Cas asserted. "He's retired and he's to stay that way."

"Fine. Then I know of a certain big, bald patriarch I can take off the bench. The point is, they can get us to the monsters. The monsters can get us to Purgatory. I know it."

"And what's your price in all of this?"

"Just half," Crowley replied.

"Half?"

"My position isn't all that stable, ducky," the King of Hell admitted. "Those souls would help, just like they'd help you. Besides, wouldn't you rather have me in charge down here? The Devil you know?"

There was a lengthy pause before Castiel spoke next. "This is pointless. Your plan would take months and I need help now."

"Granted, yes. But just to show you how serious I am about this scheme, how about I float you a little loan?" Crowley offered. "Say, fifty large? Fifty-thousand souls from the Pit. You can take them up to Heaven. Make quite a showing. It's either this or the Apocalypse all over again. Everything you've worked for, everything that Sam and Dean have worked for - gone. You can save us, Castiel. God chose you to save us. And I think, deep down, you know that."

 **I wish I could say I was clean of pride at that moment... or the next.**

Castiel strode into Heaven with purposeful intent. Raphael turned around to face him, one eyebrow raised, as light flashed from Cas' palms, temporarily blinding the archangel.

"There will be no Apocalypse," he announced for the other angels. "And let it be known, you're either with Raphael or you're with me."

And so went the long road of good intentions - the road that brought me here.

* * *

"Castiel," Dean begins, clasping his hands. "We need you for a little powwow down here, so come on down."

"Hello," Cas greets. He stands in the entranceway.

"Oh, Johnny-on-the-spot," Bobby mutters.

"You're still here," Cas notices, glancing around Ellsworth's base.

"Yeah, we had to bury the bodies," Sam explains.

"And we found a little whiskey," Dean adds. "Thanks for coming."

"How can I help?" Cas asks.

"Oh, look." Sam flipped open a lore book. "We, um - we have a new plan. We think we've finally figured out a way to track down Crowley."

Cas steps down and walks towards him. He slows as Bobby rises to his feet. "What is it?"

"It's you," Bobby replies. In one swift moment, he lights a match and drops it.

A ring of holy fire bursts to life around Castiel, effectively trapping him. He spins around, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. He meets Dean's regretful gaze with his own.

"What are you doing?" Cas demands.

"We gotta talk," Dean tells him. He gets to his feet, joining the others.

"About what? Let me go."

"About Superman," Dean answers. The accusations spill from his lips as easy as whiskey. "And kryptonite."

"How'd you know what I said?" Bobby questions. "How long have you been watching us?"

"You know who spies on people, Cas?" Dean snaps. "Spies."

"Okay, just wait," Cas says, waving his arms. "I don't even know what you mean."

"What about this demon craphole?" Sam asks, referring to Ellsworth. "How is it so, uh, next-to-godliness clean in here?"

"And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?" Bobby accuses.

"That is hard to understand," Cas tries to placate them. "It's hard to explain. Just let me go. Let me out and I can-"

"You gotta look at me, man." Dean's voice softens, his tone shifting to something like begging. "You gotta level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley."

Cas holds his gaze for several moments, the words unwilling to leave his mouth. Dean's gentle green eyes gleam with hope.

Then Cas looks away.

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispers, exhaling sharply.

"Let me explain," Cas tries again.

"You're in it with him?" Dean presses his lips together. "You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory together? You have, huh? This whole time."

"I did it to protect you, all of you."

"Protect us how?" Sam demands, shaking his head. "By opening a hole into monsterland?"

"He's right, Cas," Bobby agrees. "One drop got through and it was Eve. And you wanna break down the entire dam?"

"To get the souls," Cas clarifies. "I can stop Raphael. Please, you have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Sam cries. "How in the hell are we supposed to trust you?"

"I'm still me," Cas urges them. "I'm still your friend. Sam, I am the one who raised you from Perdition."

Silence. They stared at him, all in varying degrees of shock.

"What?" Sam breathes. He shakes his head, scowling. "Well, no offense, but you did a pretty piss-poor job of it." As he watches Cas' eyes, flitting around the space like he's nervous, a new thought comes to him, so terrible he can hardly force himself to voice it. "Wait. Did you bring me back soulless on purpose?"

"How could you think that?" Cas asks, incredulous.

"Well, I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas," Sam replies.

Cas shakes his head. "Listen." A heavy sigh escapes him. "Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice."

"No, you had a choice," Dean corrects. "You just made the wrong one."

"You don't understand. It's complicated."

"No, actually, it's not," Dean says. "And you know that. Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret, huh? Unless you knew that it was wrong?" Dean stepped closer to the roaring flames. "When crap like this comes around, we deal with it, like we always have. What we _don't_ do is we don't go out and make another deal with the Devil."

"Yeah, it sounds so simple when you say it like that," Cas mutters. Fire dances in his pained blue eyes."Where were you when I needed to hear it?"

"I was there. Where were you?" Dean asks. "You should've come to us for help, Cas."

"Maybe."

Suddenly, a low rumbling begins to fill the area, causing the group to look upwards. The air reeks with the scent of sulfur, and the droning cacophony of smoke demons buzzes in the distance.

"It's too late now." Cas stares at them, desperation coloring his voice. "I can't turn back now. I can't."

"It's not too late," Dean pleads. His voice breaks. "Dammit, Cas, we can fix this!"

"Dean, it's not broken." As they watch the demons cloud the windows, Cas shouts, "run! You have to run, now!"

The hunters head for the doors, but right before passing through, Dean hesitates. He glances back at Cas, still trapped within the holy fire ring. They exchange one, final glance, before Dean slams the door behind him.

All at once, the clatter outside goes quiet.

Crowley steps inside. He takes in the scene; Castiel, standing in a circle of fire; the Winchesters, gone; and the pitiful, heartbroken expression Cas wears.

"My, my," Crowley muses aloud. "Playing with fire again?" A quick snap of his fingers, and the fire flickers out.

"If you touch the Winchesters," Cas starts, storming forward.

Crowley vanishes and appears behind him. "Please, heard you the first time. I promise, nary a hair on their artfully tousled heads." He flourishes his hands grandly. "Besides, I think they've proven my point for me. It's always your friends, isn't it, in the end? We try to change, we try to improve ourselves. It's always our friends who gotta claw into our sides and hold us back." He chuckles. "But you know what I see here? The new God and the new Devil working together."

"Enough," Cas says. His voice is low and threatening. He steps closer, until he and Crowley are inches apart. "You stop talking. And get out of my sight."

"Well," Crowley mutters, feigning disappointment. "Glad I came. You're welcome, by the way." He moves away from Cas and goes to walk away, but halts. "You know the difference between you and me?" he asks, sneering. "I know what I am. What are you, Castiel? What exactly are you willing to do?"

Then the demon is gone.

* * *

Dean Winchester sleeps peacefully, his arms crossed over his chest. Moonlight slants over him, illuminating the angel warding drawn on the windows. His eyes flutter open. He groans softly and rubs his face with one knuckle, scanning the room, and then his gaze lands on a shadowy figure at the foot of the couch.

Castiel looks down at him. "Hello, Dean."

Hiding his surprise, Dean pushes himself into a sitting position. "How'd you get in here?"

"The angel-proofing Bobby put on the house, he got a few things wrong," Cas replies.

"Well, it's too bad we gotta angel-proof in the first place, isn't it?" Dean leans forward and gets to his feet. "Why are you here?"

"I want you to understand."

"Oh, believe me, I get it. Blah, blah, Raphael, right?"

Cas steps closer, his tone desperate. "I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you."

"Because of me," Dean scoffs. He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away. "Yeah. You gotta be kidding me."

"You're the one who taught me that freedom and free will-"

"You're a frigging child, you know that?" Dean snaps, whirling around. "Just because you can do what you want, doesn't mean that you get to do whatever you want!"

"I know what I'm doing, Dean."

"I'm not gonna logic you, okay? I'm saying don't, just because. I'm asking you not to. That's it."

"I don't understand," Cas whispers.

"Look, next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family, that you are like a brother to me. **(haha brother-zoned)** So if I'm asking not to do something, you gotta trust me, man."

A pause. "Or what?"

"I'll do what I have to do to stop you," Dean replies.

"You can't, Dean," Cas says. "You're just a man. I'm an angel."

"I don't know, I've taken some pretty big fish."

Cas looks away, as if he wants to be ashamed but can't. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Well, I'm sorry too, then."

And then Cas is gone, and Dean is alone.

* * *

"So, that's everything. I believe it's what you would call a tragedy from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is limited. I don't know. That's why I'm asking you, Father. One last time. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? You have to tell me. You have to give me a sign."

Cas tips his ocean blue gaze to the flat sky.

"Give me a sign," he prays. "Because if you don't, I'm gonna ju- I'm gonna do whatever I... whatever I must."

The sky is quiet. Castiel waits, hoping that someone will tell him what to do. Praying for guidance. There is only the crunch of frost beneath his feet.

God is silent.

Castiel closes his eyes and hangs his head.


	9. 7x15 - Repo Man

~ _Coeur d'Alene, Idaho_ ~

 _Four years ago..._

Nora Havelock parked in front of a remote log cabin. She stepped out of her car and walked to the front door, minding the gravel path in the dark. Before she could knock, Sam Winchester swung open the door.

"Ms. Havelock, you shouldn't have come," he told her.

She walked past him without a word. Reluctantly, he shut the door.

"I needed to see it for myself," she said. "After all that tracking, all those hours we spent. I mean, it's one thing to study them in books. It's…"

Sam sighed.

In the other room, Dean sharpened a knife. It scraped unpleasantly against the metal.

A demon sat in a chair, tied up and restrained. He inhaled. "Do I smell menopause?" He glanced to the side, watching Sam and Nora walk in. "Well, if it isn't the Wiccan bitch of the West. Ms. Havelock, I know you're the one that helped them find me." With his head, he gestured at the bloody corpse in the kitchen. Nora sucked in a breath. "Not in time to save our big girl here, but still, you get a merit badge."

"They caught you, you son of a bitch," Nora snapped. "No more murders. And you're going back to Hell."

"Oh, Nora, Nora..." he tutted. "I'm gonna scoop you out like a pumpkin. You know that?" His face twisted into snarl as he growled at her. Nora jumped back, gasping, then gave a cry of fear and bolted from the room. He only smirked.

"Yeah, your scooping days are over, Gomer," Dean told him. He bent down to look the demon in the eye. "All you gotta worry about now is us."

Outside, Nora's car drove away.

"You ain't the first demon we've tracked down on this safari," Dean continued.

"That's right," said Sam. "As a matter of fact, I think you put us over half a dozen."

"Looking for Lilith in all the wrong places," the demon drawled.

"Well, you're gonna help us with that."

"If things are about to get messy, maybe you should meet the owner of this fleshy temple. A puppy of a man. You'll like him." The demon bowed his head, relinquishing control to the original host. When he raised his head again, he looked stricken.

"Jeffrey?" Sam asked. "Jeffrey, is that you?"

"Oh god," Jeffrey whispered. A broken sob escaped him. "You have to stop him."

"We will," Sam promised. "We're going to, okay? We're gonna send that demon back to Hell."

"Okay. Please don't hurt me."

"Jeffrey, before we can let him go…" Sam sighed. "Look, the demon knows where we can find more of his kind, okay?

"See, we're hunting them - all of them," Dean added. "He's not gonna give up his rolodex easy. Jeffrey, we're gonna have to cut into him. That means you."

Jeffrey took in a shaky breath. "The things he made me do to those women... Whatever you have to do, you have to do it. Please, just stop this evil piece of-" He choked as the demon wrested control away from him. "And on, and on, and on," the demon laughed. "Frankly, he can get tedious with this whole 'good and evil' thing."

"You know, you were right," Dean said. "I like Jeffrey. He's a decent guy. In fact, he just signed off on his temple." He held up the demon knife and poured holy water over it. The demon glared at him.

Dean stabbed him in the side.

The demon shrieked, jerking in his seat. His skin sizzled, undergoing relentless contact with holy water.

"She's got other lieutenants," Dean growled. "We already know that. We want names."

The demon began to scream as they poured holy water over his open wounds. When Dean went to start breaking limbs, the demon cried, "wait! Wait! His name is Merrick! I swear! You'll find him in New Orleans!"

Now having received the information they wanted, Dean flipped open a lore book and began to read. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis!"

The demon tipped back his head. Smoke funneled from his mouth, spiraling upwards and fleeing the scene.

* * *

"Jeffrey?"

Now in the Impala, they drove as fast as they were able to a hospital.

"Jeffrey, you awake?" Dean questioned. In the back seat, Jeffrey coughed wetly. "Hey, you passed out. You're in shock."

"He's- He's gone?" Jeffrey slurred.

"We exorcised him," Dean replied. "Try not to move, okay? We're almost to the hospital."

"You- Your brother?" Jeffrey moaned.

"My brother stayed back to clean us out of that crime scene. There's no reason to go down for a demon's murders. You know what I mean?"

When they arrived at the hospital, Dean jumped out of the car and opened the door for Jeffrey. He helped the other to the sidewalk. "Alright, alright, take it easy. Alright, you're good to make it from here, right? Okay, Jeffrey, no demon talk in the E.R., you understand me? You were mugged." He almost patted Jeffrey on the arm, but thought better of it, and instead got back in the car and drove off, leaving the tortured man alone.

* * *

~ _Coeur d'Alene, Idaho_ ~

 _Present day..._

Dean flicked the light on. The brothers peeked into the motel room.

Grimy yellow walls, green and blue patterned curtains, and one broken lightbulb. Not too shabby.

As they stepped inside, Dean's phone rang. He stared at the caller I.D. "Classified server? Got to be Deveraux, right?" He held it to his ear. "Hello? Thank God. Frank, Frank what do you got for me?"

Off to the side, Sam's hallucination of Lucifer stuck his hands in his pockets. "It's nice. Kind of like a men's room with beds."

Sam looked away. He distracted himself with a stack of files.

"Hmm," Lucifer continued, picking at the wall. "Avocado grime. Takes years to build up a patina like this."

Grimacing, Sam pressed his wounded palm until Lucifer flickered and vanished.

"... it's Dick Roman. Turn on CNN," Dean was saying. "Didn't you see him at that, uh, press conference in Phoenix? The bastard's everywhere." A pause. "You sure? No, I-I-I don't. I don't care that they've infiltrated the luxury boat industry, Frank. Great, call Kanye." He hung up and sighed.

"Frank's still stumped on Roman?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah." Dean joined Sam by the bed, where the younger had laid out each of the victim files. "Alright, let's do this."

"Okay, look at the victim profiles - same age, same hair color, body type. The ritual mutilations line up exactly."

"Who down there would've let our demon out of the can?" Dean asked. "He squealed on his superiors. We made sure of that. I mean, he should be down under until trumpet day."

"But two women killed in the last two weeks, same parts missing, I mean, same old hunting grounds even."

"Alright, well, we can take a swing at it. But you know it's all about the Leviathans now, okay? They're the ones we need to be hunting."

"Yeah, but, no." Sam sighed. "I mean, not right now. This one's ours, Dean. It's unfinished business, apparently."

Dean glanced back at him, and though it was obvious he'd rather be hunting Leviathans, he agreed. "Alright."

* * *

" _..._ _This is unit 32. Repeat, we've got another one. That's a 187. Female, caucasian, maybe late 30s, at the Henley Autowash_."

" _Unit 32, assistance is enroute_."

Dean opened his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he rolled over in bed.

When they arrived, the crime scene was swarming with policemen and paramedics. Yellow tape marked off the area. Sam cleared his throat as the brothers approached; they both held up their FBI badges.

An officer lifted the tape for them, and they ducked under, with Sam thanking him.

"You know, every time we do this, I wonder if today's the day," Dean commented. "We walk up, flash our tin to a bunch of chompers pretending to policemen."

"I hear you."

They paused by the bloodstained body, which medics were ferrying into the ambulance, when a detective clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Thought you boys might show up!" he exclaimed, smiling. "It's the drummer boys, agents, uh, Bonham and Watts, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Yeah, absolutely," Dean said.

"Uh, it's a pleasure to see you again, detective…" Sam trailed off, embarrassed he didn't remember the name.

"Sutton," Lucifer supplied helpfully, leaning against the ambulance. Sam ignored him.

"Pardon me, what was it - detective...?"

"Sutton," Lucifer repeated, enunciating each syllable as if Sam didn't hear the first time.

"Oh, no problemo, it's Detective Sutton," the detective answered. He shook Sam's hand.

"Sutton, yeah, hi," Dean rambled, shaking his hand next.

"Sad to say, case looks to be open again," Sutton told them.

"Are you sure?" Dean questioned.

"Same tools," Sutton said, walking over to the broken glass on the pavement. "Same cuts. Same crazy."

By the ambulance, Lucifer scowled and stuck out his forked tongue.

"Makes sense. I mean, we didn't catch the critter last time, did we?"

"And no suspects?" Dean asked.

"Same as before. Very thorough. Cold-blooded."

Meanwhile, Sam walked around the other side of the car and peered inside. He scanned the seats and dashboard for hints, but nothing.

Dean thanked the detective, who wandered off. Sam rejoined his brother and they gazed into the car together. Suddenly, Sam noticed something in the corner. Yellow powder. He gathered some on his finger and sniffed it.

"Sulfur."

"Dammit," Dean muttered. "Better go check on Havelock."

* * *

"This is it." Nora opened the door for the brothers and ushered them inside her shop.

"Wiccan's Web dot com," Sam read off.

"Internet mail order," she explained. "White magic only. Herbs and talismans." She led them to her office, pushing open the wide double doors to reveal a dark red Devil's trap drawn on the floor. She stepped to the side, avoiding touching it. "Careful, it's still drying." At their questioning looks, she clarified, "I have a friend at the Sheriff's office. I know about all the new murders. I'm doing what I can to protect myself."

Sam and Dean inched around the trap. She walked around her desk and pushed some papers aside.

"I'm also translating some very old banishments," she continued. She handed Sam a few pages.

He flipped through them, scanning the ancient texts with an appraising eye. "Wow, uh, these are- these are good."

"Thanks. I got an affinity. But back then, that night in that farmhouse, I was in over my head. I know that now, believe me. I will leave all that to the pros."

"Well, you helped track it down," Dean told her. "I mean, that was some solid legwork."

"When it came down to it, all I really knew was somebody who knew somebody who knew the right number to call," she dismissed. "And your number is not working, by the way."

"Right, we've had some-" Sam paused and rephrased. "-technical difficulties, phone issues."

"It's a monster problem, really," Dean added.

Sam glared at him, then turned his attention back to Nora. "So, uh, you haven't had any contact?"

"With the demon? No, thank God." She took the papers back and set them on her desk. "I have one or two things to finish up in town, and then I'm leaving."

"Good choice," said Dean.

"Have you found Jeffrey yet?" Nora asked.

"Who?"

"The man who the demon possessed," Nora replied. "The one you almost beat to death."

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, Jeffrey. That poor bastard."

"Some demons tend to be sentimental, don't they? Always go back to the same host if they can."

"It's a start," Sam said.

* * *

~ _Halfway House Group Therapy_ ~

"I want to talk about Cinemax," someone said, raising his hand. "We're grown men. We pay rent. Why can't we get Cinemax?"

"The Halfway program advisers have already weighed in on that," the group facilitator, Alan, replied.

"Fine, fine," the man muttered.

"Bringing it up in group is not gonna-"

"I said fine!" the man snapped.

Alan refocused his attention on another member, with wide, nervous eyes and trembling hands. "Jeffrey. You have something pretty big going down later this morning."

"That's right, I guess," Jeffrey murmured. "I'm picking her up today. I'm getting a dog - a rescue. I had to get her spayed and shots and stuff, but they said she's ready."

"Jeffrey and I talked about this," Alan said. "He understands that pet ownership is a privilege, not a right. He's gonna have to show the whole house that he can handle the responsibility."

"And that's what it's all about, right, Alan?" Jeffrey smiled a bit. "Handling it."

At the animal shelter, Jeffrey stepped outside with a dog cradled in his arms.

"Surgery's a big bucket of laughs, huh?" he said. "You look good. I'm sorry for the cone of shame, but we gotta keep these stitches in." He carefully set her down on the sidewalk, a leash bundled up in his fist. "Okay. Come one."

As he headed off, something crashed in the alleyway. He paused. Limping, he stepped into the alley, searching for the source of the noise. He moved past the dumpsters, and instantly he was grabbed by Sam and Dean.

Dean pressed the demon knife to his neck while Sam drenched him with holy water, aiming his gun at his chest. Jeffrey yelped, shrinking into his jacket fearfully.

"Jeffrey?" Sam questioned.

When they realized he wasn't possessed, they released him.

"It's okay," Sam soothed, noting the terrified expression he wore. "You're okay."

"Sorry," Dean said. "Just had to make sure."

"Make sure of what?" Jeffrey asked. "That I peed my pants today?" His dog whimpered. "Aw, you scared my dog." He knelt down and stroked her head.

"Uh, we did not mean to do that," Sam backpedaled, managing a chuckle.

"Listen, Jeff, we got to- we gotta talk," Dean told him.

Back at Jeffrey's apartment, everyone took a seat. Sam pulled out a chair, while Dean joined the man on the couch.

"Well, this is, uh…" Dean trailed off, unsure about how to comment on the room without offending Jeffrey.

"I know what it is," Jeffrey muttered.

"Look, I know it must've been, um, hard," Sam tried, attempting to not sound awkward but failing. Jeffrey stared at him.

"Do you even listen to yourself?" Lucifer wondered. He was perched in the windowsill like a lazy cat, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was one of faint amusement.

Sam glanced at him, then pressed his palm.

Lucifer scowled and waved him off, flickering out of existence. "Oh, don't bother."

"What do you guys want from me?" Jeffrey asked.

"Well, um, we're pretty sure the demon that possessed you is back," Dean replied.

"What? What do you mean?" Jeffrey's tone took on an accusing edge. He rose to his feet. "You exorcised him, right? He's- He's _supposed_ to be in Hell."

"Jeffrey, look, please just calm down," Sam placated. "Have a seat, please."

"I don't understand," Jeffrey whispered. He looked on the verge of tears now.

"Three more women have been murdered over the past two weeks," said Dean.

Jeffrey shook his head. "No, no…"

"Same vic profiles, same forensics, crime scene dusted with sulfur," Dean continued, counting off his fingers. "We've gotta assume that it's him."

"But we're here now, okay? So if he comes after you, we'll nail him, just like we did last time," Sam promised.

"What was her name?" Jeffrey inquired. "The last one he killed."

"Uh, Anna," Dean supplied.

"Anna Paxton," Sam finished.

"Marjorie Willis." Jeffrey raised his head, voice firm. "She's the next one on the list."

"List? What list?" Sam asked.

"The demon used to recite it all the time, like a grocery list. He burned it in my head - the names of all the women he was gonna kill."

"He already had his victims chosen?" Sam's eyebrows furrowed.

"And put in line, in an order."

"Wait, why?" Dean questioned. "Demons aren't usually into the obsessive serial-killer crap. You know, they're more just kinda all around evil. Why would he do this?"

"He said it was his job," Jeffrey said.

Then there was a knock at the door. Jeffrey raised a finger to his lips, crossed the room, and opened it.

"Jeffrey," an older man greeted. "Did your guests sign in?"

"I'm really sorry, Alan," Jeffrey said. "They're friends of mine from my days back at the post office. I didn't know they were coming."

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked Dean quietly.

"I think we really helped mess this poor son of a bitch up," Dean replied, casting his gaze downward. "Look at him. He's got a state-assigned Dad."

"Okay, just get them to sign in when they sign out," Alan told him with a smile. Jeffrey nodded, and closed the door.

The brothers got to their feet.

"Jeffrey, look, I'm gonna go," Sam said, "I'm gonna go find Marjorie Willis, keep her on watch, okay?"

"Don't worry," Dean added. "I'm gonna stay here just in case."

* * *

Sam walked into the local library with a bag slung over his shoulder. The place was milling with quiet folks checking out books, creating a comfortable atmosphere for both work and relaxing. He offered a polite smile to someone walking by, then scanned the library for his target.

"Excuse me." A woman strolled past him, pushing a cart filled with books. Her blonde hair was tugged back in a tail, and she wore a grey cardigan.

Despite knowing he was here to scope out the next victim, Sam couldn't help but think about how he never got a chance to pick up a book and read. Lore books, sure, but not fiction or the interesting ones he enjoyed.

Lucifer stepped into view, leaning over his shoulder. "You're right. We just don't read anymore."

Sam gritted his teeth and began walking.

"Marjorie Willis," Lucifer mused, keeping the pace behind him. "Librarian, indoor gardening enthusiast. Our demon's next organ donor."

They watched Marjorie take a seat at a desk. Sam picked a vacant table to keep an eye on her, settling his bag on the wood. Lucifer sat down in front of him. When Sam tried to look over at her, Lucifer gave a sigh and blocked him. Sam inched to the side. Looking absolutely defiant, Lucifer leaned farther. Sam scowled.

"Come on, Sam, talk to me," Lucifer said. "It's been months."

Sighing, Sam moved his chair again. Lucifer crossed his arms.

* * *

"When you left me at the E.R., I had three smashed fingers, five teeth out, a broken wrist, nose, cheekbone, collarbone." Jeffrey counted off the numerous injuries on his hands. "I had to get 160 stitches." He breathed a laugh. "Mugged. The doctor on duty said it looked like I got caught in the Spanish Inquisition."

"And we're the good guys," Dean said.

"They patched me up, mostly," Jeffrey continued, ignoring Dean. "But I lost my job, my health insurance. I just started to drink and drift, and I got lost. Had some kind of mental break. And I started to talk... about what happened."

Dean groaned. "Ah, man. Never tell. Never, never."

"I know that now, believe me."

"So, lemme guess," Dean tried. "Drunk tank, to psych eval, to seventy-two hour forced hold, to a nice long stay at an institution of their choice."

Jeffrey gave a nod. "Yes."

"It's happened to friends of mine," Dean recalled.

"For a long time, I didn't care," Jeffrey admitted. "The truth was more important than where I was. I was in no shape to cope with the outside world."

"Well, hey, you got out, you know? Holding it together."

"And now the demon is back."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "I'm sorry, man. I mean it - about all of it, you know?"

"You saved my life," Jeffrey assured him. "I owe you for it. I know that. I owe a lot of people for getting even this far. I…" He paused. A crease formed on his forehead. "Crap."

"What?"

"If he isn't already circling the next woman, Marjorie, then I-I think I might know where he is." Jeffrey's words gathered momentum as feverish urgency gleamed in his eyes. "He had this special place where he kept souvenirs. Where he nested."

"Why didn't you tell us this?" Dean questioned.

"I didn't want to go," Jeffrey said, looking down at his hands.

"You don't have to go. We'll handle it."

"I do, I have to," Jeffrey urged.

* * *

"'Average annual rainfall, Hackberry, Texas…'" Lucifer trailed off with a sigh of boredom and dropped the book he was reading.

Sam trained his eyes on the pages. Pages, not Lucifer. Words, pages, ink, not the Devil.

Across the room, Marjorie had moved from her desk and now pushed her rattling cart through the aisles. Sam watched her vanish into the back.

Then-

The people all around him began to bang their heads into the tables. Sam flinched and held back a gasp. As if yanked by invisible strings, people tried to break their skulls open on the wood, grunting every time they did so. Blood dripped from their foreheads. Lucifer smirked.

Sam pressed as hard as he could into the scar on his palm. Lucifer vanished. Everyone went back to normal. He let out a breath of relief.

A moment later, Lucifer was back. His voice held the whiny petulance of a toddler. "Come on, Sam, pay attention to me. I'm bored." He pouted for emphasis.

Sam caught sight of a man walking towards where Marjorie had disappeared. He wore a black leather jacket, and didn't seem to be the friendliest. Sam was instantly suspicious.

"Civil war buff?" Lucifer wondered, raising an eyebrow.

His jaw tightening, Sam rose from his seat and followed the guy into the back. He peeked through the rows of books, searching for the pair. A soft cry reached his ears, and he sped up. He went to round the corner, when-

"...right here, in my discontinued periodicals," Marjorie gasped.

They were making out passionately, so passionate one might think they were trying to devour one another.

Sam spun on his heel and fled the scene.

* * *

Dean turned the engine off. He lifted his cellphone, then frowned. "Dammit, no service."

Jeffrey twisted around to look at his dog in the backseat. "Good girl. You stay." He opened up a bag and set it in front of her. She gave a soft whine. "Here's some jerky. Stay."

"Thing's not gonna pee in here, is it?" Dean asked.

"Um, I don't know."

Sighing, Dean hopped out of the car, Jeffrey following suit. "So he'd get you this far, and then he'd shut your lights out, yeah?" Dean asked.

"For some reason, he was very secretive about this place," Jeffrey confirmed. "But after a while, he'd only really sort of cover my eyes when we walked in."

"Okay. You think you can get us back there?" Dean searched the younger man's face for signs he was having a breakdown inside. Growing up with Sam, he'd learned to detect these things.

Jeffrey gave a nervous nod.

Dean opened the back door, which rattled loudly. He shined a flashlight inside the gloomy warehouse.

"Red door down the hallway," Jeffrey whispered.

The light illuminated a door with chipped and peeling red paint.

"Yeah, there is," Dean said. He unsheathed the demon knife. As they walked, Jeffrey kept a hand on his shoulder, his eyes closed. They made their way to the end of the hallway.

"This must be it," Jeffrey breathed.

Dean swung open the door. More darkness. He proceeded into a larger area, where shelves and tall structures were few and far between. He could see more clearly in the moonlight.

On the windows, dozens and dozens of occult symbols were drawn in what he hoped wasn't blood. He recognized a lot of them, but many were unfamiliar. Dean steeled himself.

"Alright, stay over here, okay?" he instructed, pushing Jeffrey back towards the door. "You just stay here, don't move."

His light gave a weak attempt at puncturing the shadowy space. Dean moved farther back, exploring more of the creepy demon warehouse. He turned a corner, sighting some propane tanks. At the sound of footsteps, he whirled around.

Jeffrey stood a few feet behind him, looking anxious. He bit his lip.

Dean sighed. He aimed his light a little to the right, and froze. Bloody and beaten and strapped to a chair, a young man sat with his head bowed. Thick chains secured him, restricting any movement. Dean approached cautiously.

"Hey," Dean whispered. "Hey. Hey, alright." He flicked his light off and went to work on the cuffs. "We're gonna get you out of here."

The guy slowly raised his head, revealing a gag tied around his mouth. His eyes fixed on something beyond Dean. He began to struggle, making muffled noises of panic and rattling the chains.

"Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?" Dean muttered. "But you gotta stay still."

The guy moaned behind the gag.

Then a sharp pain stabbed Dean's neck, and everything went black.

* * *

"I'm pretty sure this guy's the boring sort of chubby chaser," Lucifer remarked. They watched the apparent couple smile and chuckle with one another.

Sam flipped open his phone and dialed Dean's number.

" _Leave your name, number, and nightmare at the tone_."

"Dean, where are you? I'm scoping zero out here."

"Not a good sign~" Lucifer sing-songed. He stood behind Sam and scanned the various papers. "Surprised you haven't picked up on that one yet. It's right there in the coroner's report." He sat down across from Sam once more.

Sam flipped open the report. He frowned.

"Yeah. Uh-huh," Lucifer approved. "In this latest round of killings, our big girls had traces of heavy tranquilizers in their blood. Yeah, but our demon's strong enough to make fat Betty do whatever he wants to, right?" He cocked an eyebrow. "So, why does he need the tranqs? Think he's got a bad back?"

Feeling unsettled that his hallucination was right, Sam wracked his brain for ideas. Answers.

"Yeah, whatever is going on here, you know that demon's not coming back to kill anybody," Lucifer continued.

The phone beeped as Dean's other number failed to connect. " _This is Special Agent Smith. Please leave your name, number, and details_ -" Sam hung up.

"Oh no," Lucifer drawled. "That's every cellphone Dean has. One of them should've picked up, right? Big brother's probably dead."

For the first time since arriving in Coeur d'Alene, Sam pinned Lucifer with a sharp look and growled, "Shut up." Still glaring at him, Sam gathered up his things and left, leaving Lucifer sitting alone.

Lucifer watched his departure, a faint smile crossing his face. "He said 'shut up' to me."

At Jeffrey's room, Sam picked the lock and hurried inside before anyone saw him.

"That's what I'm talking about, Sam," Lucifer said, slipping inside after him. "Real interaction again. I miss that. The rapier wit. The wittier rape. Come on."

Sam shouldered past him. He lifted up Jeffrey's mattress, searching for something, anything to help him find Dean that wasn't a hallucination of the Devil.

"I'll be good," Lucifer promised. "I'll even help you solve your little Nancy Drew mystery, or whatever."

Fear made him move quicker. Sam rifled through papers and knick knacks, then picked the lock on a drawer and pulled it open. He found a blue box inside, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Hm, a cell phone scrambler," Lucifer observed. "But Luci, those are illegal. Think, Sam. Maybe this has something to do with Dean's telephone blackout."

Sam put the scrambler back and swung open the bottom drawer. Full of junk, full of useless things that couldn't help him, couldn't help Dean. He abandoned the drawer and shoved past items atop a dresser, yanking open cubbies and tossing aside clothing items. He smacked the wood in frustration, then paused. He banged on it again. It was hollow. He pulled out the entire drawer and dumped the contents all over the floor. When he reached below it, he found a case. He opened the clasp and flipped through the papers inside.

Demon summonings.

"Latin - not suspicious at all," said Lucifer.

Walking down an alleyway, Sam convinced himself he was talking outloud for organization reasons. "I've never seen this spell before."

"No, but you've seen this type."

"Demon summoning," Sam muttered. "Why?"

"Why? To summon a demon, jackass," Lucifer replied, smirking. "Start looking at _who_."

There was a lengthy pause. Sam stopped and turned to look at Lucifer. "Okay, what do you mean?"

"Look at the page," Lucifer told him. His tone had instantly shifted from antagonistic to calm instruction.

Sam scanned the words. The familiar looping y's, the scratched i's.

He said, "I know this handwriting" at the same time Lucifer spoke, "You know this handwriting."

* * *

Sam crept into Nora's dark shop. He walked past the lobby, then slipped into her office. Lucifer sat at the desk, hands laced behind his head. Sam hardly managed a few steps before something heavy and hard connected with his skull, sending him sprawling to the ground.

" _Ay, caramba_ ," Lucifer exclaimed, rubbing his own head. " _Mi cabeza_!"

Groaning, Sam stumbled to his feet to face his attacker.

Nora let out a cry and swung at him again, but Sam grabbed her weapon and shoved her back several feet.

"Nora, stop it!" Sam shouted. "Calm down!" He brandished the summonings for her to see, crinkling the paper. "What is this? _What is this_? Why did Jeffrey have a demon summoning in your handwriting?"

"Everything's happening the way he said, the way he planned it," Nora whimpered. She was trembling from head to toe, her lips wobbling.

"What plan?" Sam demanded.

"You can't help - you can't change it."

"Hit her," Lucifer suggested.

Nora exhaled shakily and sat down.

"Nora, tell me what is going on," Sam ordered.

"Sam, shake her up," Lucifer told him. He jabbed a finger in Nora's direction. "She knows what happened to Dean. Get this stupid cow to focus, will you?"

"Nora, listen to me!" Sam lowered himself to her level. His voice was quiet but threatening. "Whatever it is, you should be a lot more scared of me right now because I'm two inches away from you, and I can make you talk. Do you understand me?"

Lucifer nodded in approval.

Nora let out a sob. "It's my son. He has my son."

"What were you thinking?" Sam snarled. "Why would you even help bring back a demon in the first place?"

"Not the demon!" Nora cried. "Jeffrey."

* * *

Dean's eyes fluttered open.

He saw the kid beside him, still tied down. He blinked rapidly and tugged at his own restraints. Everything was fuzzy, and he couldn't think straight. He squinted in the darkness.

"Jeffrey?"

Jeffrey looked over at him. "Good. You're up."

"What happened?" Dean groaned. "What's going on?"

"No one asked you to get involved," Jeffrey said. "To save me, to save anyone."

"What?"

"Did you ever think that maybe I loved being possessed?" Jeffrey limped across the room, then began tugging a cart. It was filled to the brim with summoning supplies. "Did you? I loved the connection, the power. And I loved him. Love of my life, actually."

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," Dean mumbled.

"He liberated me - started me on my true life mission." Jeffrey began to assemble the various ingredients.

"So you're the one with the thing for all those women," Dean realized. "Aren't you, Jeffrey? You're a serial killer."

"I was nothing before he found me. A shadow, too scared to do what I was brought here to do." Jeffrey lit a match and tossed it in the bowl, which caught fire. "Too timid to live up to my true potential."

"So, what happened?" Dean asked. "Redheaded mommy make you stuff birds, put on dresses?"

"You shouldn't trivialize other people's pain," Jeffrey told him.

"Demon comes along, rides co-pilot in your skull. Teaches you how to kill. The list - that's yours," Dean said.

"For years, it was just a game I would play," Jeffrey recalled. "Every time I'd walk by one of them in the street or see one on my mail route... there's a sound that comes from their brains. You know that? Only I can hear it, like and evil little steam whistle." He stepped closer to Dean, eyes alight with manic passion. "Every time I saw one, I'd follow her, take down her address. But I was never gonna do anything. Not 'til he came along. He's the one who saved me." He picked up a knife from the table. "And _you_ sent him to Hell."

* * *

"I kept tabs on Jeffrey after the exorcism," Nora told Sam. "I even sent him care packages in the hospital, but he never responded. And then not long ago, he came to me. He seemed healthy, put together, except he wanted to know if there was a way to summon the demon back."

Sam shook his head, gritting his teeth.

"He said he'd been doing some research. It was mostly nonsense, but he was convinced it was possible."

"You really knocked the cork outta her piehole," Lucifer remarked.

"I sent him away," Nora said earnestly. "I told him to get some more help. The next day, he called me. He put my son on the phone." Tears slipped down her face. "He had taken him from his dorm room. I gave him everything: the ritual, the sigils. But he kept my boy." Nora stood and walked behind her desk, then opened a drawer. She held up a small wooden box. "And then he sent me this."

Sam undid the lock and grimaced at the bloody contents.

"It's my baby's ear," Nora sobbed. "He cut it off because the ritual didn't work."

"Well, that demon gave up some serious state secrets," Sam said. "Would've gone into big lockdown. Not so easy to bring him back up." He closed the box.

"Jeffrey didn't care. He told me to find out what went wrong or else. Finally, I found a summoning spell that would work for sure." She flipped open a large book and handed it to him. "And that's when he said I had another job to do."

"Which was what?" Sam questioned, scanning the page.

"When you came, I was supposed to send you to Jeffrey," Nora admitted. "He left a trail of bodies to make sure of it."

Sam held back his anger and turned his attention to the spell. He frowned at one line. "'Blood of the exorcist'?"

"Strongest summoning I've ever seen," Nora whispered. "It requires the blood of the exorcist who banished him - your brother. You see? It is all part of Jeffrey's plan."

"Yeah, well-" Sam slammed the book with a _thud_ , "-new plan. Tracking spell. Bavarian, Egyptian, I don't care. Dealer's choice. Use the flesh of the body to find the body and Dean." When he saw Nora's expression, he smacked the box on the table. "Do you want the ear, or the kid?"

"You're giving me the chills," Lucifer piped up, grinning.

* * *

"I like to think I know you pretty well," Jeffrey mused. He knelt beside Dean, watching his blood drip into a bowl.

"Yeah, how do you figure?" Dean grunted.

"I watched you torture an innocent man to get out a demon," Jeffrey replied. "Pretty charged situation - revealing. You guys talked about a lot, showed a lot of character. God, you were _so_ desperate to fix the world back then. It kills you that people keep getting hurt…" He picked up the bowl and headed back to the cart. "... and you just can't stop it. Or should I say it's killed you, shouldn't I?"

"You know what? Screw you," Dean snapped.

"Hey. I was there. I was depressed, Dean, because he was gone. I was a wreck, an emotional shell, a drunk." Jeffrey glanced over at Dean. "I was suicidal."

"I don't usually endorse suicide, but _man_ , what stopped you?"

"It was Alan, at the house," Jeffrey said.

"You're kidding me."

"He's a really good rehab therapist. Really helped me focus on my goals, my attitude." Jeffrey cleaned off the knife leisurely. "I have to say, I really benefited from the whole program. A life well-lived comes from the structured pursuit of meaningful happiness. I realized I was nothing without my demon. Then I decided I have to get him back." He let out a long sigh. "I'll be right back."

He shuffled off, favoring his weak leg. "Come on, honey," he said to his dog. Dean felt sick. "It's a bit of a recipe, I must admit," he called back.

"No," Dean muttered, disbelieving.

Jeffrey and his dog vanished around the corner, but Dean could still see their shadows.

"Oh, you sick son of a bitch."

The dog yelped. The whimpering went quiet. Jeffrey walked back over a few moments later, clutching something in his hand. Dean shook his head as he went by.

Jeffrey placed a smaller bowl within the burning one. He poured Dean's blood over it, then began to chant in Latin. As he spoke, the shelves started rattling, filling the warehouse with noise. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The ground trembled.

Everything went quiet.

Exhaling, Jeffrey lowered his arms. He glanced around, looking confused. Dean prayed the ritual didn't work.

Nora's son suddenly burst free of his chains, sending them clattering to the floor. He raised his head, revealing his eyes to be black. He ripped off the gag. "Hello, Jeffrey."

The demon rose from his seat, looking down on Dean with disdain. "Dean Winchester. As I live and breathe... again." His eyes flicked back to their normal color. He turned and approached Jeffrey, then wrapped the other in an embrace.

"What are you doing?" Jeffrey whispered.

"I'm thanking you, Jeffrey." The demon laced their fingers together and began to sway back and forth in a strange, stumbling waltz.

"What are you doing with this half-dead piece of crap?" Jeffrey asked, referring to Nora's son. "Come into me."

"We had a very special time together, didn't we, Jeffrey?" the demon mused. "It warms my heart to see you haven't forgotten what I taught you. You built on it." He slowed to a halt, stepping back to admire his former vessel. A grin spread over Jeffrey's face at his words. "You captured a Winchester. You, Jeffrey, my pupil."

"I don't want to be your pupil," Jeffrey said eagerly. "I want to be yours."

The demon released him. "But I'm done with you. My work is finished. You can do everything now, all on your beautiful own."

"No," Jeffrey said.

"No?"

Jeffrey shook his head.

The demon backhanded him. Jeffrey staggered and fell, reeling from the unexpected blow. The demon knelt.

"We don't do 'no'. Remember, Jeffrey?" Dean strained against his ropes, drawing the demon's attention. He stepped towards Dean, the promise of pain in his voice. "Keep sawing away at your ropes, Penelope Pitstop. We can dance standing up if you want."

"So is this what you do?" Dean demanded. "Find postal workers, make 'em go postal?"

"I talent scout," the demon corrected. "That's all. Looking for the next generation of superstars before they get to Hell, like Jeffrey here. He had all the raw material, just bubbling in there. All I had to do was loosen the lid on his jar, show him some practical know-how."

"What about the kid?"

"This one?" The demon wiggled a bit and clicked his tongue. "I don't think. Not much to work with. No natural gift. I'll probably burn this meat off on my way to Vegas."

Sam lunged from the shadows. The demon whipped around and grabbed his gun, and then the two were locked in combat.

Dean sawed off his ropes.

The demon grasped Sam by the collar and flung him several feet back. He hit the floor with a groan. Grinning, the demon advanced, preparing to finish the job, but slammed into an invisible barrier. A devil's trap was sprayed on the ceiling.

"You've got to be kidding me!" the demon roared.

"You let go of my son," Nora demanded, striding into view.

The demon chuckled lowly, but it held no humor. "Where do you keep coming from?"

Behind them, Jeffrey had gotten to his feet. Clutching a knife, he moved to attack them, but Dean cocked his gun and pulled the trigger. Jeffrey stumbled. He shot him again. Jeffrey collapsed with a moan.

The demon strained against the barrier, growling. Nora chanted an exorcism, but despite his obvious pain, the demon offered a sinister grin.

"He'll be back, you know. Back in black."

"Go to Hell," Dean snapped.

Nora finished the exorcism. The demon fell to his knees and screamed, black smoke funneling from his mouth and spiraling out of sight. Nora's son slumped to the side. She ran to him, helping him sit up. Through her crying, Nora managed to murmur, "I got you. I got you, baby."

* * *

Dean collapsed into his motel bed with a weary sigh. Sam locked the door behind him.

"So Jeffrey was just pretending to be the victim," Sam said, frowning. "Way back in that farmhouse, during the exorcism. H-He was just acting."

"He was a psychopath, Sam," Dean mumbled, his voice muffled. He shifted in bed and kicked his shoes off. "That's what they do all the time, is act. Act like they're normal, act like they're not balls-to-the-wall crazy."

"You going to sleep?"

"Damn straight. Screw consciousness, that's what I say..."

Sam chuckled. He started to shrug his jacket off, but a voice stopped him. Dread clutched at his chest.

"No, no, Sam. No nap for you, Sammy."

Sam pressed his scar.

"Oh, come on, don't do that," Lucifer scolded. He straightened. "Let's talk, Sam. I always enjoyed our special little chats. Don't you want to talk?"

Pressing his lips together, Sam jammed his nails into the scar, but Lucifer remained frustratingly corporeal.

"Yeah, look at that. Something's definitely different now, isn't it?" Lucifer pointed at him. "You let me in. You wanted me, partner. So you think you can use your little tricks to banish me again, like _that_? No." He snapped his fingers. The sharp sound made Sam flinch. "I do believe I've got you, bunk buddy. Got my finger wiggling around in your brainpan." He wriggled his finger, and as he did so, the bed burst into flames.

Sam sucked in a breath. The heat was horrifyingly real, warming his skin and crawling up his clothes. He held in a cry of pain as the fire leaped up his arm.

Lucifer chuckled. His snickering rose in volume, turning into a full-blown howl of laughter. The sound was cruel and utterly merciless.

"Come on, Sammy! Come on! Say it with me now... GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!" Lucifer shouted. Sam flinched violently.

The laughing turned to a cackle, cold and sadistic and ringing in Sam's ears, so loud it was painful but not as painful as the flames, the fire searing him to the core and it wasn't- it wasn't real, it couldn't be, but- the heat, the cackling it couldn't be imaginary-

The fire roared on.


	10. 8x23 - Sacrifice

"On the house, sheriff." A waitress slipped a glass in front of Jody Mills.

Jody looked up, surprised. "Oh, thanks, Nance, but I didn't order-"

"So…"

Nancy smiled and mouthed 'good luck'.

"... what are we drinking?" a man asked, sliding into the booth across from her. He wore a black suit and a red tie, and his voice held a British lilt.

"Roderick?" Jody gasped.

"Wow, Jody," Roderick remarked. "Words cannot begin to describe the injustice that that picture does to you."

Jody tried to hold back a girlish chuckle, hiding a flattered grin behind her drink. "Come on."

Later into the night, Jody found herself relaxing, lulled into a sense of comfort by her date. "Look at you."

"What?"

"The fancy career, the suit... I'm pretty much what I am - small-town girl."

Roderick glanced to the side. "We do share something, you and I."

"What?" Jody asked, stirring her second drink.

"Loss."

Jody's smile faded. She remembered a little boy with the bluest eyes, and a tall man with a kind voice. She remembered the blood on the ground, the crimson-stained pajamas. The pop of a gunshot.

"My son and my husband," she whispered. "How did you know?"

Roderick took her hand in his own. His grip was cold. "I've lost someone too."

Her eyes watered. Jody sniffed, now finding herself to be withholding tears. "It's not a date till I've cried," she muttered, chuckling mirthlessly.

"So now you've cried," Roderick said.

* * *

Jody stepped into the restroom. "Oh, this is crazy. This is crazy." She moved in front of the mirror and wiped at her eyes, minding her recently applied eyeliner. "I'm crazy." She reached into her bag and pulled out some lipstick. She applied it, still murmuring to herself. "He's attractive, though, right? He's hot."

Still seated at the table, Crowley laid out a spell. He placed a candle in the center, then propped up a photo of Jody against it. Her face was covered by a bloody sigil.

When he was sure no one was watching, he recited the spell under his breath. " _Manu mortis accesso, spiritus vitae recedit_."

Jody choked. Her lungs contracted, unable to draw in air, and she coughed blood into the sink.

Crowley's phone rang. He held it up to his ear. "You have less than one minute before a very dear, attractive, and slightly tipsy friend of yours snuffs it."

On the other line, Dean slammed his hand against the table in frustration. "Call it off, Crowley."

" _Because_?"

"Because it's over, you son of a bitch. We want to deal."

" _Thirty seconds_."

"We stop the trials, and you stop the killing."

" _I want the demon tablet_ \- _the_ whole _demon tablet_."

"Fine, but then the angel tablet comes to us," Dean replied.

" _On what grounds_?"

"On the grounds that you're a douchebag and no douchebag should have that much power. Deal or not?"

"First, I need to hear two little words," Crowley said. He held his fingers over the candle, preparing to extinguish the flame. "'I surrender'."

Dean closed his eyes and spoke.

* * *

The Impala rumbled to a halt. Kevin Tran jabbed his shovel into the ground, currently digging up the demon tablet for the Winchesters. When the brothers walked over, Dean took notice of the large billboard shadowing the burial spot: a comedic devil, with the classic red skin and pointy horns, stirring a pot of chili.

"You hid the demon tablet underneath the Devil?" Dean questioned. "Seriously?"

"What? I was delirious." Kevin retrieved the two halves, wrapped in separate pieces of cloth. He pressed them together, and the carved text glowed golden for a moment before fading, and then the tablet was whole once again. He handed the tablet to Sam, looking hesitant. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"What choice do we have?" Sam replied.

"Alright, listen. This is a secret lair," Dean told Kevin, referring to the Men of Letters bunker. He gave him a key. "You understand me? No keggers."

Kevin blinked. "I don't have any friends."

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, well, just lay low. Who knows? You'll be a mathlete again before you know it."

Sighing, Kevin only cast his gaze downward. The brothers began to walk off, but he called, "you guys? You're doing the right thing."

They exchanged a look with one another, then headed off.

* * *

~ _Houston, Texas_ ~

Castiel watched a homeless man on the sidewalk, brandishing a crude sign made of cardboard with the words 'MAY GOD BLESS YOU'. As he watched, he was ever reminded of the older and stronger force seated beside him.

"What was he like?"

"Who?" Metatron asked. He glanced over at Cas. "Oh, God? Mm, pretty much like you'd expect. Larger-than-life, gruff, a bit of a sexist. But fair - eminently fair." When he saw Cas' troubled expression, he tried to placate him. "The nephilim was a monster, Castiel."

"And the next trial?" Cas questioned, changing the subject.

"Across the street." Metatron pointed at a bar. "His name is Dwight Charles. I've been listening in on the angel radio. Cupid frequency, actually. And he is the next on their list."

"Their list?"

"To do the horizontal mambo," Metatron replied. "Slap bellies."

Cas stared at him.

"To find love," Metatron clarified, rolling his eyes.

"Oh. Yes."

"Well, that. He's slotted to be dinged by Cupid's arrow within twenty-four hours, which is good for us, because the second trial is retrieving Cupid's bow."

"No killing?" Cas asked.

"No killing," Metatron confirmed.

* * *

~ _Sioux Falls, South Dakota_ ~

The Winchesters pulled into Bobby's junkyard, the Impala rumbling to a halt. They stepped out of the car and surveyed the broken-down cars, each feeling a pang of grief for their surrogate father. Bobby's car was overgrown with weeds and rust. They looked down on it in silence.

"Hello, boys," Crowley greeted. He stood several yards away, a comfortable distance from any attacks he may be subject to. "What's that old expression? Success has many fathers. Failure is a Winchester." He chuckled to himself. "Where's the stone?"

"You show us yours, and we'll show you ours," Dean said.

"Really, Dean? I'm trying to conduct a professional negotiation here, and you wanna talk dangly bits?" Crowley rolled his eyes. "The stone."

Sam reached into his jacket.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Crowley said. "Slowly."

Slowly and deliberately, Sam revealed the demon tablet.

"There she is."

Sam put it away.

Crowley held open his suit flap, showing the angel tablet to be tucked into his pocket. He smiled.

"And the contract?" Dean called.

In a grand flourish, Crowley rolled out the contract, which spanned the several yards between them in length and bumped against his foot. The parchment rippled in the breeze.

"Yeah, I'm sure there's no hidden agendas in _there_ ," Dean commented sourly.

"The highlights? We swap tablets, you stand down from the trials forever."

"You stop killing everyone we've ever saved," Sam added.

"Agreed."

Dean pulled a pen from his pocket and stepped towards the contract.

Crowley tugged it away, clicking his tongue. "Nice try, squirrel." He gestured at Sam. "Moose is doing these trials. Moose signs."

"No," Dean said. "Sam's not signing anything until I read the fine print."

"I can read it," Sam snapped, grabbing the pen.

"Hey, you wanted me here," Dean whispered, his tone harsh. "I'm here. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him screw us even more."

"What's this?" Crowley remarked. "Trouble in paradise, boys?"

They glared at him in unison. He chuckled.

* * *

~ _Heaven_ ~

An angel pushed open the doors to an white office, halting before the desk. The walls were illuminated with light, and white lights dotted the ceiling. The floor was pristine, the doors clear as air, and nothing was out of place. He waited to be addressed before speaking.

"What is it, Nathaniel?" Naomi asked, scanning some papers.

"One of our freelancers has reached out to us," he informed her. "He's found Castiel."

That drew Naomi's attention. She looked up at him. "Where?"

"A drinking establishment in Houston, Texas. And…"

She set down her papers. "What?"

"He says Castiel was not alone," Nathaniel admitted, looking nervous.

"Who was he with?"

"By the description, I-I think it was _him_ \- the Scribe."

* * *

~ _Sioux Falls_ ~

"You're gonna move your lips the whole way up here, aren't you?" Crowley questioned, watching Dean approach. He scanned the contract carefully, allowing no words or phrases to slip by him. He wanted to be absolutely sure of what Sam would be signing. "You know why I always defeat you?" Crowley continued. "It's your humanity. It's a built-in handicap. You always put emotion ahead of good, old-fashioned common sense."

Dean frowned at him.

"Let's have the big galoot sign it now, shall we?"

Every movement filled with reluctance, Dean turned back to Sam and beckoned him. Sam uncapped the pen, then nodded at his brother.

Dean whirled around and slapped a pair of handcuffs on Crowley's wrist.

The demon glared at him. He let the contract fall. "Is this a joke? You realize, all I have to do is-" He snapped his fingers; nothing.

"Uh uh uh," Dean said, mimicking Crowley from earlier. "Demonic handcuffs, jackass." Crowley turned his wrist over, just now seeing the strange sigils and powerful markings. "No flicking, no teleporting, no smoking out - oh, and, no deal." He revelled in Crowley's expression. "Which pretty much means that you're our bitch."

"Fine," Crowley hissed. "You wanna play chain gang? Let's." He punched Dean across the face. "You saddled yourself to the wrong bull, mate."

Dean retaliated with a blow that made Crowley stumble. He yanked the angel tablet from his coat, then passed it off to Sam. He gripped Crowley by the collar, grinning. "I can do this all day, cause you know what? _Damn_ , it feels good! But sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it - you're ours. Which means that your demon ass is going to be a mortal ass pretty damn quick."

"What's he mouthing on about?" Crowley inquired, looking over at Sam.

"You're the third trial, Crowley," Sam told him. He allowed himself a triumphant smile.

* * *

"What are you reading?" Metatron asked.

"Personal advertisements." Castiel glanced up. "The faster that man finds love, the faster the Cupid will come."

The two angels looked over at the bartender, who was busy serving another customer.

"Trust me," Cas added. "I'm friends with friends who do this for a living."

Dwight Charles strolled over to them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a bushy beard and a friendly smile. "May I help you gents?"

"Yes," Cas said. "Would you say that you're looking for, uh, a partner in crime, or uh, someone who's into nurse role-play and light domination?" He peered up at the man, completely blank-faced.

Dwight stared at him. "Brother, it's 10:00 AM on a Tuesday."

"Uh, we'll have two drafts, please," Metatron said hurriedly.

"Coming up," Dwight told them, walking away faster than he needed to.

"You're not the most subtle tool in the shed, are you?" Metatron muttered.

Hands latched onto his coat. Several angels grabbed Metatron, dragging him from the booth and holding him captive between them. Castiel rose to his feet, preparing for a fight. He raised his blade.

"Kill him," Naomi ordered.

Before anyone could make a move, a gunshot rang out. The angel stumbled and touched the graze in slight irritation. Everyone swiveled to see Dwight, standing behind the counter, a rifle in hand. He cocked it.

"Next one won't wing you," he promised, eyes narrowed. "Take it someplace else."

A flap of wings, and then the angel was behind him, snatching his collar and smashing him into a rack of bottles with a great _crash_! The angel tossed him to the ground.

"Let him go," Cas growled.

Naomi's eyes latched onto him, burning with fury. "Haven't you caused enough harm already, Castiel?"

Cas stepped out of the booth, but Metatron's words made him halt.

"Stop, please," Metatron pleaded suddenly. "Castiel, don't make this any worse. Please."

And then the angels were gone.

* * *

~ _Heaven_ ~

Metatron opened his eyes. He was in Heaven, strapped to a chair with restraints around his wrists. His gaze found the angel standing before him, and hatred bubbled up inside him. "I know you."

"We've never officially met," Naomi replied.

"Naomi." Metatron chuckled a bit. He glanced to the side, where he found several tools of their purpose he could only assume. "Your reputation precedes you. The archangels-"

"Wanted me to debrief you after God left," Naomi finished.

"'Debrief' me," Metatron huffed. "Is that what you call it?"

"Well, how would you know? You ran before I even had the chance. But... here we are." Naomi offered a plastic smile. "I just have one question before we begin. You had to know that we would _leap_ at the chance to extract all of God's secrets from that head of yours, which is why I ask myself: why?" She rose to her feet and crossed the room. "Why did the Scribe suddenly come in from the shadows? And what are you doing with Castiel?"

Metatron watched her, his expression one of faint amusement. "' _Of the blessings set before you, make your choice and be content_.'" At Naomi's questioning look, he added, "not a big reader, are we?"

Gritting her teeth, Naomi flicked on the drill.

* * *

The Impala rolled to a stop. They were at an abandoned church, situated at the side of a vast lake. The grass was vibrant and soaked with moisture, and a smoky fog hung over the land.

Dean yanked Crowley from the backseat and marched him inside the church, where they chained him to a chair and sprayed a red Devil's Trap on the floor beneath him. Extra precautions, as always. Crowley strained against the collar around his neck, rattling the chains.

"You really think this is going to hold me?" Crowley hissed, shooting Dean a baleful glare. "That you're going to cure me, or whatever it is?"

Smiling faintly, Dean only tossed the empty spray can to the side and headed back out.

Thunder rumbled above, and a gentle trickling of rain dampened his clothes. Sam was at the trunk, gathering the necessary supplies.

"He's primed," Dean informed him. "How you feeling?"

Despite Sam's gaunt appearance, he managed to sound hopeful. "Honestly, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we're gonna win." He chuckled. "I'm good."

"Alright, well, no dancing in the end zone until we're finished. What's the good father's playbook say now?"

"Well... now that we got the consecrated ground, I just, uh, I slip Crowley one dose of blood every hour for eight hours-" Sam pulled a syringe out of its container, "-and seal the deal with a bloody fist sandwich. That should do it."

"Your blood's supposed to be purified, isn't it?" Dean questioned. "You ever, uh, you ever done the 'forgive me, father' before?"

"Once, when we were kids," Sam admitted. "Which is why I have no clue what to say now."

"I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want," Dean offered.

"O-Okay. Yeah. Sure."

"Alright. Well, I'm just spitballing here, but if I were you - Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul, not looking for me when I went to Purgatory-"

"Thanks," Sam muttered. He cast his gaze downward. As if he needed any more reminding of his numerous screw-ups throughout his lifetime.

"For starters," Dean finished.

Sam reached into the trunk, pulled out his bag, and walked into the church without looking back.

"Or, hey, how about what you did to, uh, Penny Markle in the sixth grade?" Dean called after him, smirking. "Why don't you lead with that?"

"That was you," Sam corrected.

Dean blinked. He pressed his lips together. "Carry on." When Sam was out of sight, he frowned to himself in contemplation.

The confession box was dark. Sam swung open the door and took a seat, feeling awkward the whole time. He mentally ran through his list of sins, everything from Lucifer to Purgatory. He was unsure of where to start, but eventually realized his greatest sin, the one that deserved the most attention.

"If anybody's listening, here goes," Sam murmured.

Outside, Dean was leaning inside the Impala's trunk when he heard a flap of wings nearby.

"Dean, I need your help," Castiel said.

"Little busy, Cas, take a number," Dean muttered.

"I'm afraid this can't wait. Naomi has taken Metatron."

Dean straightened. "And you know Metatron _how_?"

"I've been working with him on the angel trails," Cas told him.

"The what?"

"We're going to shut it all down - Heaven, Hell, all of it."

"Metatron, the guy who was full-on crazy, cat-lady hoarder angel yesterday? Now he wants to _save_ Heaven?" Dean raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Yes, he wants to. But I'm the only one who can." Cas' voice grew desperate. "I can't fail Dean, not one this one. I need your help."

"Look, Cas," Dean said, rising to his feet. "That's all well and good, okay, but you're asking me to leave Sam, and we've got Crowley in there, tied and tressed! Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam."

Sam rounded the corner, and, upon hearing he was the topic of conversation, interjected. "You should go. Seriously."

"And what, leave you here with the King of Hell? Come on."

"I got this." Sam glanced back at the church. "And if you guys can lock the angels up too, that's a good day."

"Look, I…" Dean swallowed. "I'm down with sending the angels back to Heaven, just cause they're dicks. But the demons? This is on us. Start the injections now. If I'm not back in eight hours, finish it, no questions, no hesitation."

Sam gave a tight nod. "Yeah."

His movements slow and reluctant, Dean grabbed the angel tablet from the trunk, and then he and Cas were gone.

Within the church, Sam drew out the first dose of blood from his arm, wincing. He turned back to Crowley.

"You really think injecting me with human blood is gonna make me human?" Crowley taunted. "Did you read that on the back of a cereal box?"

Sam pushed his head to the side and stabbed him with the needle, uncaring about precision. Crowley let out a cry of pain. When Sam stepped back, the demon glared at him. Sensing the hunter's anxiety, Crowley's expression shifted to smug confidence.

"You're miles out of your league, moose. See you in an hour."

As Sam turned around, his arms lit up with pulsing red light, causing him to muffle a groan. He exhaled sharply.

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

"Is this a joke?" Kevin scoffed, staring down at the angel tablet.

"No. It's the word of God," Castiel said.

The prophet glanced up at him. "What?"

"It's a tablet," Dean told him. "Translate. That's what you do."

Kevin chuckled dryly. "Okay. Um, it's the angel tablet, which I've never laid eyes on in my life. You want a translation in like six hours when it took me six months and a dead mom to translate a piece of the demon tablet?" He walked across the room and poured himself a drink. His voice became snappish. "And according to your own words this morning... this is not what I do. It's what I _did_. You told me I was out, Dean."

"Yeah, well-"

"And if this is gonna be the 'guys like us are never out' speech, save it," Kevin interrupted.

Castiel hauled him upright by his shirt collar, sending his drink shattering on the floor. He held Kevin in a rough grasp, reminding everyone in the room of his rank as a Seraph and power imbalance between them.

"Dean's right," he growled.

"Cas," Dean protested.

"There is no out. Only duty."

"Get the hell off me," Kevin cried, struggling against Cas' hold.

"You are a prophet of the Lord, _always_ and _forever_ ," Castiel snarled. "Until the day you cease to exist, and then another prophet takes your place." He shoved Kevin forward, forcing him to look at the angel tablet. "Now, _are you clear_ as to the task before you?"

Kevin gritted his teeth and nodded.

"Then do it, and let's go," Cas finished, releasing the young prophet.

A rustle of feathers, and then they were gone.

* * *

Sam checked his watch. It's time. He headed over to Crowley, gave him the next injection, and prepared to move away, but Crowley managed to grab his arm and bite down.

Crying out, Sam jumped back. A bloody wound marred his skin.

"What the hell, Crowley?" Sam snapped. He hit the demon across the face. " _Biting_? Seriously?!" He stormed off to bandage his arm.

Meanwhile, Crowley waited until he was gone to spit blood into his palm, creating a makeshift bowl. " _Inferni sectatores, nunc audite regem_." The blood began to writhe in slow, undulating waves. "For the love of everything, whoever is hearing this, if anyone is hearing this - this is your king. Send help immediately."

* * *

~ _Houston, Texas_ ~

Dean tipped back a beer. He was seated at the bar, watching an old movie play on the TV. Castiel sat down next to him.

"Anything?" Dean asked. "You've been gone long enough."

"No. There was _one_ female, but…"

"What?"

"I don't think she was female," Cas admitted. "Anything here?"

"Free drinks." Dean gestured at the bartender. "Your, uh, buddy over there thinks you saved his life."

Cas waved. Dwight Charles nodded, smiling.

"Do you really think it's wise to be drinking on the job?" Cas questioned, watching Dean take another swig.

"What show have you been watching?" Dean replied. "Talk to me. Are you sure about this? I mean, it's one thing me and Sammy slamming the gates to the Pit, but you - you're boarding up Heaven, and you're locking the door behind you."

Sighing, Cas grabbed his own drink. "Yeah. I know."

"You did a lot of damage of there, man," Dean continued. "You think they're just gonna let that slide?"

"Do you mean, do I think they'll kill me? Yeah, they might."

The pair shared a long look.

"So this is it?" Dean muttered. "E.T. goes home."

The bar doors swung open. Dwight greeted a woman walking in. She wore a bright smile.

"Where's Ed?" Dwight asked.

"Flu," she replied. "I'm Gail."

"Showtime," Dean whispered.

Gail tugged a cart in behind her, which Dwight helped load up.

"Holy crud, this is like the first five minutes of every porno I've ever seen," Dean commented.

"Rod rides a stool here most days," Dwight was saying, referring to the other man nearby.

Gail set a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'll be seeing you both." She gathered up her things and left, after bidding them each goodbye.

Dean and Cas watched in confusion.

The two remaining men looked up at the TV together. There was a pause, and then in unison, the two remarked, "damn, that's sweet." They gazed at each other. Their expressions turned admiring.

"How about the next one's on me?" Dwight offered, smiling.

Dean blinked in surprise. Without wasting another second, Cas got to his feet and followed the female cupid out back.

* * *

"How we doing, moose?" Crowley called out. "Ain't it 'bout time for the next love injection? _Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes, turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes, just gonna have to be a different man, time may change me but I can't trace_ ~"

Sam clenched his fists, holding back his vocal signs of pain. He gripped the syringe in one hand.

Then the church began to rattle. The ceiling shutters banged together, filling the dimly lit interior with a great clattering of noise. The floorboards creaked as the wood started to splinter, a slice arcing across the ground and breaking the Devil's Trap.

Crowley grinned, eyes gleaming with malice. "Did you really think you could kidnap the King of Hell and no one was gonna notice, dumb nuts?!"

The doors flew open. A lithe shadow stalked inside, a triumphant smile curving her lips.

"Hello boys," Abbadon greeted.

"That's _my_ line," Crowley muttered. He tried to look back, but could only catch a brief glance. "Abbadon? They told me you were dead."

"So not."

"And the rest of the cavalry?"

"Oh no, it's just little old unkillable me," Abbadon said.

Sam lunged for his gun, but Abbadon tossed him against the wall, causing the bullet to ricochet.

"Brilliant!" Crowley cackled. "Why send in a few grunts when you can send in a knight? Say your prayers, moose."

With a wave of Abbadon's hand, Sam went flying through a window, showering the floor in glass.

"That'll do," Crowley praised. He raised his cuffed wrists. "Undo these. I'll kill him myself."

There was a lengthy pause. Abbadon circled to the front, regarding him coldly. "That was an order, was it?"

Crowley could see the defiance in her eyes. "I am your King."

"About that..." Abbadon struck him across the face. "Do you know what I find the most shocking about time travelling through a closet and landing in the year 2013?" She hit him again, and again, and again, until his chair toppled over and sent him to the ground. "Somebody thought it was good idea to make _you_ the King of Hell."

"You know what that boy's trying to do, right?" Crowley groaned, trying to appease her. "He's trying to shut the Gates of Hell."

Abbadon waved her hand, slamming the doors closed. She knelt down to his level. "Right now, you and I are going to talk about a regime change."

"You little whore," Crowley snarled. "I am your ki-!"

Abbadon punched him once more. When he slumped over, she straightened with a sigh. She turned.

Sam doused her in holy oil, causing her to gasp. "I love the suit," Sam growled, then tossed a lit match on her.

Flames engulfed the Knight of Hell. Abbadon screamed, limbs flailing in an attempt to escape the fire that was all around her, scorching her skin and turning her vessel to ashes. In a great funnel of smoke, she fled from her body, spiraling to the ceiling and fleeing out the window, and then everything was quiet.

* * *

The cupid jogged down the back steps. When she caught sight of Dean and Castiel, she halted, her shoulders tense and eyes wary.

"Hello, brother," she said.

"Give us your bow," Cas demanded. His blade slid into his hand.

"What?" The cupid flinched and took a few steps back as Cas advanced on her.

Dean grabbed Cas' arm. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey." He circled around to protect the cupid. "Talk first. Stab later."

The cupid relaxed a bit, realizing they weren't going to hurt her. When she heard their side of the story, she admitted, "I've been afraid to go home for some time now. Orders used to come once a day, and now it's chaos. It all seems to be breaking down. And you think you can fix that?"

"With time, yes," Cas replied.

She stepped forward and extended her hand. On her palm was the black symbol of a bow-and-arrow. "Take it, then."

* * *

"You've been digging," Metatron murmured. Blood tracked down his face, but he managed to offer a smug grin.

"Why are you doing this?" Naomi demanded. " _This_?"

"Do you have any idea what it would be like to be plucked from obscurity, to sit at God's feet?" Metatron gazed up her, his voice earnest. "To be asked to write down His word? The ache I felt when He was gone, telling myself, 'Father's left, but look what He's left us - _paradise_.' But you and your archangels couldn't leave well enough alone." His lips curled into a snarl. "You ran me from my home. Did you really think you could do all of that to me and there'd be no payback?"

Naomi only shook her head, then vanished.

* * *

" _I think I found angel trials, but I don't see anything about a nephilim or a cupid's bow, or anything like that_ _._ "

"Oh, come on, Kev," Dean groaned over the phone. "We're on the one-yard line here."

" _Okay, and I should've mentioned this six months ago, but the sports metaphors - y-you wanna motivate me? 'Magic' cards, 'Skyrim', Aziz Ansari._ "

"What?"

Castiel paused. A rustle of feathers behind him alerted him to presence of Naomi.

"I'm not here to fight you, Castiel," she placated immediately, spreading her arms in a gesture of surrender. Not anymore."

"Where is Metatron?" Cas demanded.

"He told you he was going to fix Heaven, didn't he? Murdering a nephilim, cutting off a cupid's bow - it's a lie. All of it. I've been in his head."

"You've been in _all_ our heads," Cas argued. "That's the problem."

"No, Castiel, you're wrong," Naomi said.

Cas shook his head. "This is what you do. You twist things. I'm trying to fix Heaven. Metatron is trying to fix Heaven."

"Metatron isn't trying to fix anything. He's trying to break it, as an act of revenge for driving him away."

"Break it how?" Dean asked.

"Dean," Cas snapped.

"Expel all angels from Heaven, just as God cast out Lucifer," Naomi answered. The urgency in her voice was authentic.

"Cast you out to where? Hell?"

"Here," Naomi whispered. "Thousands of us, walking the Earth."

"Lies," Cas snarled, and he moved to attack her, but Dean pulled him back.

"Our mission was to protect what God created," Naomi said, her eyes brimming with desperate tears. "I don't know when we forgot that. I want nothing more than to see you shut the Gates of Hell," she told him now, addressing Dean alone, "but I told you that you could trust me. If Sam completes those trials, he is going to die."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean questioned.

"I saw it, in Metatron's head. It was always God's intention. The ultimate sacrifice." Naomi locked eyes with her brother. "As for you, Castiel, I beg of you, stop this path. Metatron has been neutralized. If you want back in, truly, I will listen."

Her message delivered, Naomi closed her eyes and disappeared.

Dean raised the phone to his ear. "Hey, right now, talk to me. Is she lying?"

" _I don't know_ ," Kevin replied shakily.

"Well, find out!"

"She's lying," Cas told him.

"Take me to him," Dean breathed.

"Dean-"

"Take me to him now!"

* * *

Sam hauled Crowley's chair upright with a grunt of effort. Crowley coughed.

"You did good back there, moose," Crowley told him. "I'll deny it if you ever quote me, but I'm a proud man. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," Sam muttered. He shook up the spray paint.

"Hold, w-what's that?"

"It's what it looks like," Sam replied. He knelt down and sealed the Devil's Trap once more.

"Are you joking? I just saved your life."

Sam chuckled. "Seriously?"

"Seriously? Me, seriously?" Crowley watched Sam walk by with wide eyes. His voice wobbled and cracked in an uncharacteristic manner. "We just shared a foxhole, you and I. We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the- the Rape of Nanking together! And still you're gonna do me like _this_?"

Sam poked him with the needle. Crowley yelped.

"'Band of Brothers'?" Crowley tried. "'The Pacific'? None of this means anything to you? All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once? 'Girls'?"

The hunter's expression was a comical one.

"You're my Marnie, moose," Crowley insisted, sounding increasingly panicked. "A-And Hannah, she just- she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all? You, me - we deserve to be loved. I _deserve_ to be loved!" Crowley sobbed. His eyes glittered with pain, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I just want to be loved."

Sam stared at him. "What?"

"What?" Crowley repeated. After a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as if he wasn't conscious of his outburst. He swallowed.

An hour later, Sam drew out the last dosage of blood from his arm. Crowley had long since fallen silent, which left them to a quiet, awkward atmosphere where no one mentioned the demon's strange wave of emotions.

"Would it be possible, moose..." Crowley spoke suddenly, his voice soft and tentative. He wouldn't meet the other's gaze. "...I'd like... to ask you a- a favor, Sam. Earlier, when you were confessing back there... what did you say? I only ask, because, given my history, it raises the question... where do I start to even _look_ for forgiveness? I mean..."

Sam held up the syringe with trembling fingers. "How about we start with this?"

Crowley tilted his head to the side, allowing Sam to give him the injection. This time, he was silent.

Nearly finished now, Sam opened up the instructions and read off an exorcism. Crowley flinched at the words, but nothing happened. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra_."

Sam used the demon knife to create a slice in his palm. It pulsed orange and yellow, and a wave of nausea almost sent him to his knees.

Outside, Castiel called after Dean, "Dean, I'm not wrong. I'm going to fix my home." And before he could be persuaded otherwise, he vanished.

"Cas!" Dean shouted. Torn between his best friend and his brother, he turned and ran into the church, crying, "Sammy, stop!"

Sam flinched violently, but didn't retreat.

"Just take it easy, okay?" Dean said quietly, as though he were speaking to a skittish animal. "We got a slight change of plan."

"What? What's going on? Where's Cas?"

"Metatron lied," Dean told him. "You finish this trial, you're dead, Sam."

Sam only stared at him. His appearance was haggard from the trials, but something else made his lips wobble and his hands shake. His next words were filled with anguish. "So?" He shook his head, then gestured at the chained Crowley. "Look at him. Look how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this!"

"Think about it," Dean said. He knew he was treading on careful ground now. "Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from Hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you."

"You can barely do it _with_ me," Sam whispered brokenly. "I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?"

"Come on, man, that's not what I meant."

"No, it's exactly what you meant. You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was?" Sam's face twisted with misery. "It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again."

"Sam-"

"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?" Sam took in a shuddering breath. His voice cracked. "Who are you gonna turn to next time, instead of me? Another angel?" He remembered all those times Dean confided in Castiel, and not him. He remembered when Dean relied on Cas to fix what Sam broke. "Another vampire?" Benny was a sore spot. Dean wanted to be with Benny rather than Sam, because Sam was a screw up, but Benny was the brother that he could never be. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just-"

"Hold on, hold on!" Dean interrupted. "You seriously think that? Because none of it- _none_ of it -is true." Sam shook his head, grimacing. "Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've some junk that set you back on your heels. But Sammy, come on. I killed Benny to save _you_. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed Mom _walk_ because of you." His voice turned gruff with emotion, and this time, he didn't try to hide his desperation. "Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you."

Sam looked down at his hands. The trials pulsed inside him, igniting him and burning him up. He let out a shaky sob, then met his brother's watering eyes. "How do I stop?"

* * *

~ _Heaven_ ~

Castiel found Naomi dead on the floor. A bloodied drill protruded from the back of her head.

"She told you I lied, didn't she?" Metatron stepped up behind Cas, pressing an angel blade to his throat. A smile of pure malice curved his lips. "You should've listened to the bitch."

In the next instant, Metatron had Cas restrained in the chair.

"You promised," Cas hissed.

"Shh," Metatron murmured. "Castiel, I want you to stop thinking about master plans, Heaven, and angels, all this." He set a hand on Cas' head and forced him to lay back. "That doesn't concern you anymore." With the tip of his blade, he created a thin slice on Cas' throat, causing the latter to groan in pain. Metatron fished a small vial from his pocket, and began to fill it with swirling, bluish white grace. As he did so, he spoke, "these were never trials, Castiel. This is a spell. And what I'm taking from you now- your essence, your grace -is the last piece."

Cas choked; Metatron healed his wound.

"And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me, and for you." The Scribe leaned close. "I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die, and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story."

Then white light filled the room, and Castiel was gone.

"Now go."

* * *

"Just let it go," Dean murmured. He took a step forward.

"I can't. It's in me, Dean. You don't know what this feels like."

"Hey, listen to me." Dean reached into his pocket and produced a strip of cloth. He began to wrap Sam's hand, covering up the bloody slice. "We will figure it out, okay? Just like we always do. Come on." In one swift motion, he pulled Sam close and embraced him. Sam leaned against him for support, trembling. "Let it go. Let it go, brother."

Sam's arms glowed, humming with power. He drew back suddenly, panting, as the light vanished.

"See?" Dean said. They shared a look of relief, the beginning of a smile on Sam's face, when abruptly, he cried out in pain and collapsed. Dean quickly helped him to his feet, and together, the pair stumbled from the church, falling against the Impala for support. "I got you, little brother, you're gonna be just fine," Dean soothed.

Another groan ripped itself from Sam's throat. He gasped for breath, choking, as Dean held him close.

"Cas!" Dean shouted. " _Castiel_!" Silence. "Where the hell are you?"

Somewhere in the wilderness, Castiel opened his eyes to a midnight sky. He forced himself to his feet and staggered to a clearing. Up above, the stars were falling.

In the bunker, Kevin marched up the steps to leave, when suddenly, previously dark lights began to flash on. Beeping filled the place. Machines powered on with a great humming, and lights started popping up on a map of the Earth, red and glowing. Hundreds, thousands, millions of lights, clustering and gathering.

Thunder boomed. Dean looked up at the sky, and what he saw shocked him to the core.

As though the sky were a black canvas and needles were puncturing the paper, bright lights appeared through the clouds. Falling stars flew down from above, forming a spectacular light show.

"No, Cas," Dean whispered.

Their wings burned. The lake erupted as they hit the surface, plunging into the depths. Sam jolted.

"What's happening?" Sam gasped.

"Angels," Dean breathed. "They're falling."

Castiel watched his siblings plummet with horror in his eyes.

And so the Heavens burned.


	11. 9x21 - King of the Damned

~ _Leith, Scotland, 1723_ ~

Everything was dark. Ghostly clouds drifted over the moon, momentarily dulling its brightness. Inside a cozy home by the sea, a young man packed his bag. He grabbed a canteen and took a swig.

Suddenly, a great clatter arose. His door began to shudder, as if rocked by an exterior force, faint light filling the edges and illuminating the dim room. He stared in fascinated horror.

The door crashed open. "What's that, you say?" a woman called out. She wore a black leather jacket, and her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders. "'Come in'? Don't mind if I do." Of its own accord, the door swung shut.

"Who are ye?" the young man cried, his eyes blown wide with fear. "What do ye want?"

"I'm a friend of the family," she told him. "And I want you."

"I have no idea who ye are. And you'll be takin' yer leave now, thank you."

"Yes. You're packing," she noticed, eyes landing on his bag. "Sailing for the colonies. I know all about it." She stepped towards him, her feet clicking against the wooden floorboards. "Change of plans." She reached for his face.

The door opened, and another man walked in. He halted upon seeing them. "Oh. What's this, then? Are we havin' a party?"

The woman only laughed. "Yes. A farewell party." She flung out her hand, and the man went flying, slamming into the far wall with an audible _crunch_. He choked.

The young man watched on in shock. He crossed himself.

Turning back to him, the woman began to chant in a foreign language. As she did so, a sigil on the door lit up with an orange glow, growing brighter and brighter until it filled the room with white.

* * *

~ _Present Day_ ~

"... and a seagull landed on her hand and started flapping and distracted her while another seagull swooped in," an angel was telling his friends, swishing around a glass.

"I can't tell you how great it feels to finally have a night off, right guys?" another angel, Ezra, interjected, strolling up the them. The group went quiet, looking up at him in awkward silence.

Deciding to pay him no attention, the first angel continued, "uh, this other seagull—"

"Get away from all the pressure, you know?" Ezra added.

"A-Anyways, so, no one had any pizza after that—"

"Course, I can't really complain," Ezra said. "Being, uh, handpicked by the big man himself. I'm not really supposed to talk about it." He chuckled a bit. The others pursed their lips and glared at him. "Cause it's Metatron."

"What about Metatron?" the first angel asked.

"Well, uh, he's come to depend on me," Ezra boasted. "So you know, we're uh, tight." He pulled out a chair and sat down, uninvited. "And I have to say, I've come to appreciate the met-man's vision."

"His vision?" the first angel scoffed. "He threw us all out of Heaven!"

"No, no, no," Ezra said, grinning. "Big picture. He's giving the place a makeover, bringing back the chosen few, starting with the uh, the _chosen_ chosen few. If you know what I mean."

Off to the side, several more angels glowered at him.

Later that night, Ezra strolled off by himself down the street, heading down a dark alleyway with all the confidence in the world. As he moved towards the exit, a sudden figure emerged from the around the corner. He stopped. Farther back, another angel lurked in the shadows.

Suddenly, he was surrounded by the angels from the bar. They grabbed him and dragged him away, chaining him up and restraining him to a chair in a room by himself. There he waited, alone, until eventually, one of his siblings stepped into the area.

"These are dangerous times," the angel told him. "You have to be careful what you say. You never know who might be listening."

"I said nothing," Ezra defended.

"Oh, you said plenty," the other replied. His lips tugged into a smirk. "Apparently, you felt the need to discuss your relationship with Metatron—his strategies, privileged information."

"No!" Ezra exclaimed.

"You speak that freely, and there are consequences. As you're about to find out."

Ezra shook his head in a panic, exhaling sharply. Outside the room, footsteps echoed eerily. "Is that... him?"

"It is." The angel stepped aside.

Through the doorway, tall man with a trench coat and deepest blue eyes entered.

* * *

The Impala rumbled to a halt.

As he jumped out of the car, Dean asked, "this is the address?"

"Yeah," Sam replied.

At the door, there was a sign that read "DO NOT ENTER; AUTHORIZED EMPLOYEES ONLY; CENTRAL MUNICIPAL POWER CORP." Before Dean could even knock, the door swung open, startling the Winchesters.

"If you'll follow me, the commander will see you now," an angel told them.

"The commander?" Dean whispered in confusion.

The angel glanced back, waited until they were following, and then led them down the hallway.

They entered a room bustling with activity. One wall was covered in a massive map of roads and little red dots, and like a massive art project, angels stood on ladders and steps to reach the wall. Bulletin boards were filled up with pins and photos and helpful information. Files and papers and computers littered the numerous desks, and angels were busy sorting and tucking away these pages. Screens with Metatron's face on them were prevalent, and it was not uncommon to see one angel suddenly haul away another in chains.

The Winchesters trailed behind the angel up to a separate room, where Castiel was working on something with his back turned. The room was filled with black-and-white photos, books, and other knick knacks.

The angel knocked on the doorframe. "Sir."

Castiel turned around. His face split into a wide smile upon seeing them, and he quickly wrapped Dean in a hug. When they separated, Cas hugged Sam too. Cas glanced over at the angel, who remained standing by the door.

"Um... dismissed," Cas told him.

The angel walked off.

"He can be a little stuffy."

"So, commander?" Dean questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, not my idea," Cas admitted. "They had no leader, and they insisted on following me."

"Yeah, no, we get it," Dean said. "You're a rockstar."

Cas gave a flattered smile, then returned to business. "Bartholomew is dead. Malachi was murdered by Gadreel, and with Metatron as powerful as he is now, I needed to do something."

Sam walked over to the window and pushed aside the blinds. "So this war between angels is really gonna happen, huh?"

"Not if I can find a diplomatic option for getting rid of Metatron," Cas said.

"Good luck with that," Dean muttered.

"Dean," Cas urged. "This angel-on-angel violence—it has to end. Someone has to say 'enough'."

"And that someone is you?" Sam asked. He released the blinds.

"That brings me to why you're here. We have a prisoner. It's an angel from Metatron's inner circle. I need to know what they're planning, but so far, he's revealed nothing."

"So, you're done with the rough stuff, and you want us to be your goons?" Dean asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, you've had success at these situations before," Cas said, looking more and more nervous as did so, like the two of them would refuse to help. "If you don't want to do it, I understand."

"Who says I don't wanna do it?" Dean replied. He didn't smile, but something in his eyes gleamed.

Sam frowned. His eagerness didn't go unnoticed by the youngest Winchester. Unwittingly, Sam's eyes drifted to the mark covered by his sleeve.

* * *

~ _Cleveland, Ohio_ ~

"So, here's the thing, boys and girls," Crowley addressed a table of demons, at which he was the head. "We have a crisis. Admittedly, a crisis of my own making. In my extended absence, where I handled sensitive matters of state, Abbadon made inroads into my following, creating chaos. So I look to you, my trusted advisors, to restore confidence, to soothe those jangled nerves. Spread the word—the king is back, and the kingdom is once again on sound footing. So, all those with me, say 'yo!'"

Silence. After only a moment, it became awkward, as each of the demons looked down at the table or to the ground instead of him. Crowley stared at them with increasing incredulity.

"Yo!" a woman called out behind him. Standing in the doorway, Abbadon cracked a mocking grin. "I mean, I'm literally with you, not _with you_ with you."

Crowley turned back to his demons, a snarl curving his lips. He hissed, "you betrayed me! No one in the history of torture's been tortured with torture like the torture you'll be tortured with!"

"Relax, everyone," Abbadon told them. "You just did the new queen a solid. You are sitting at the popular kids' table." She stepped forward; Crowley did the same. "Now, Crowley, let's talk turkey. I know you helped the Winchesters get their hands on the first blade, yes?" She took a seat and picked up a drink. Her blood red nails clinked against glass. "And I'm also hearing that one of them also has the Mark of Cain—all bad news, since the blade is the one thing that can bring about my-"

"Utter destruction," Crowley finished.

Abbadon chuckled. "To be indelicate. But here's the thing, pet—same goes for you. And once I'm gone, who do you think's next on those cute boys' list?" Crowley looked away. "That's right. So let's get real. Join me in taking out the Winchesters and that ridiculous blade, and _then_ we'll deal with each other."

With a long sigh, Crowley said, "to be clear... I'll not be joining you, ever. Except at your death scene, where I shall burst into song. Goodbye. You have no hold over me." He turned to walk away.

"Oh, no?" Abbadon snapped her fingers.

From a nearby room stumbled a boy. He wore strange, outdated clothes, and his black hair was a rumpled mess atop his head. He gazed around in shock.

"Gavin, honey, say hello to daddy."

Crowley stared at his son. "How did you-"

"I know a spell or two, Crowley," Abbadon told him.

A huff escaped Crowley. His gestured at the other, incredulous. "Are you mad? _This_ is your big card? The boy and I loathe each other. I made it clear in the past—I don't care what happens to the little bugger."

"No," Abbadon murmured. "But that was before, wasn't it? See, I know all about your little problem—bingeing on blood. Going right to the edge of being human, all those human feelings."

Crowley shook his head. "I'm clean."

"And I'm willing to bet that there's a smidgen of humanity in there somewhere," Abbadon continued.

"Not a chance."

Abbadon smiled and held out her hand. Gavin let out a groan. His hands flew to his face as his eyes began to bleed, crimson liquid pouring down his cheeks.

"I'm blind!" Gavin cried, scrabbling at his eyes with desperate fingers. His groans turned to gasps, then sobs, then screams of pain and fright. "Help! I beg you-!"

Crowley only watched detachedly. "You know, these ghoulish party tricks don't impress. Seen worse, done worse."

"No, please..." Gavin whimpered. Abbadon's cruel smile grew. Gavin collapsed to his knees, crying hoarsely. Blood soaked through his fingers.

"You're playing a weak hand, red!" Crowley snapped. He could not take his eyes away from his son.

A twitch of a wrist. The tightening of a fist. Gavin shrieked his suffering. The carpet turned red.

"I _beg_ ye!" Gavin sobbed.

"You've made your point," Crowley told her. He flinched at Gavin's terrified moans. "Now stop."

Abbadon relaxed her hand. Her smile was a sharp, dangerous thing. "Sure."

* * *

"You're wasting your time," Ezra said. "I have nothing to say."

"We disagree," Dean replied.

"There's no use torturing me. I am a trained commando. It won't work."

Dean circled around the front, tracing his fingers down the metal of the angel blade. "Wow. Well, you just asked me to dance." He grabbed Ezra by the throat and lifted the blade.

"Dean!" Sam protested. He gave his brother a look. When they were out of hearing range from Ezra, Sam said, "he won't be telling us anything dead." He glanced over at Ezra. An idea came to him. His tone shifted to a taunt. "Besides, you know, I'm really starting to realize that he probably doesn't know anything. He's probably just pretending at the bar. Most likely, he's a nobody. I mean, do the math. Ezra here is one of Metatron's elite posse?" Sam scoffed, hoping Dean would catch on. "Really? One of Metatron's most trusted is, uh, is hanging out at bars, blabbing about the boss. Does that make any sense?"

Dean smiled a bit, realizing Sam's plan, and shook his head mockingly. "Well, only if Metatron is purposely surrounding himself with losers."

"Exactly, right?" Sam laughed.

"Yeah."

"What's this guy even doing here?"

"He's a wannabe. I mean, if he was a key player, he would be up in Heaven with Metatron where all the action is."

"Exactly."

Ezra's expression became more and more indignant as they spoke. "What if I'm a decoy?" The brothers gave him incredulous looks. "Or in deep cover?"

Sam fell into another bout of laughter. Dean nodded and smiled in a way one might for a little kid.

"It's- uh, it's pathetic." Sam chuckled.

"Mm, probably hasn't even been in Heaven, not since the Fall," Dean added.

"Of course not!"

"Yes I have," Ezra protested.

"Buddy, the gates are sealed," Sam jeered. "No one can get in."

"Who said anything about gates?" Ezra blurted, frantic to be validated. "You don't need gates when you have a private portal."

The brothers shared a look.

"Right," Sam scoffed. "If there was a doorway on earth, the angels would've sensed it."

"Yeah, you can't hide something like that," Dean agreed.

"No, you can if it moves around from place to place," Ezra told them arrogantly. "If it's wherever the boss wants it to be."

* * *

"Ye are not my father," Gavin hissed, still clutching the rag he used to clean up the bloody mess around his eyes. He strode around where Abbadon was seated and glowered at Crowley. "My father was Fergus MacLeod, a simple tailor. A drunk, a monster."

"Sounds about right," Abbadon piped up.

"He looked nothing like ye," Gavin continued. "And I buried 'im."

"A lot can change in 291 years," Crowley replied evenly.

A pause. "What?" Gavin breathed.

Crowley reached over and removed the lampshade, leaving only a glowing bulb. He flicked it off, raised an eyebrow at his son, then flicked it on again. Gavin blinked. He stepped forward, bewildered, and touched the bulb.

"Can ye cook a pigeon on it?" Gavin asked after a moment.

"Not terribly quick, is he?" Abbadon mused. She waved a hand, and the curtains pulled to the side. The windows unlatched and swung open.

"Holy mother of God!" Gavin exclaimed. He ran to the balcony and gazed out at the twinkling city. Honking cars and echoing chatter filled his ears, all strange and unusual. "We're amongst the stars!" He whirled around. "Are we in Heaven, then? Ye must be angels!"

"Wow," the demons said in unison.

* * *

"I see. I got it." Sam's voice threatened to break trying to contain his amusement. "So, you heard a rumor about Metatron's 'secret portal' and you decided to run with it?"

"It's not a rumor," Ezra snapped. "He showed me."

"I get it," Dean scoffed. "He's a fan."

"A fan, yeah."

"You're a fan," Dean said, addressing Ezra directly. "Just cause you're hot for Metatron, or Beiber, or Beckham..."

"...just cause you know everything about them doesn't mean that you actually _know_ them." Sam grinned widely. "Or that they even know you exist."

"That's cold, Sammy."

"I'm just saying, man."

As they laughed, Ezra told them, "I was interviewed personally by Metatron for a key post."

"Yeah? Oh, wow, well, then maybe you can tell me why you weren't at your key post and you were hanging down here instead." As Ezra's silence stretched on, Sam's smile grew larger.

"That blows," Dean muttered. "He got passed over."

"Yeah."

"I-I was a finalist," Ezra insisted.

"Oh, man," Sam groaned. "To get so close and then get kicked downstairs. It sucks to be you."

Dean whistled pityingly.

"Hardly anybody was chosen!" Ezra cried. "And ground forces is still a very important assignment. It was an honor to have even been considered for the squad."

"What 'squad', there is no squad," Dean said.

"Yeah, says you," Ezra snapped. "It's a highly guarded secret."

"And what would you be doing, exactly?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

Ezra opened his mouth, then stopped. Whatever he meant to say seemed to die on his tongue. Dean held a hand to his ear, tilting his head expectantly.

"No?"

Sam's chuckle turned from mocking to straight-up insulting. "Wait a second, just—please, uh, clarify this for me. You desperately wanted this job, but you didn't know what it was?"

Ezra pursed his lips. "Well, until you were chosen, the exact nature of the mission was kept a secret."

"Wow."

"Wow."

"And hardly anyone was chosen," he added.

The Winchesters closed the door to his cell behind them, both chuckling.

"Dim bulb," Dean remarked. "No wonder he got bumped."

"Yeah." Sam locked the door. "'Ground forces'? 'Elite secret squad'? What's Metatron gearing up for?"

"I don't know. Why don't we shove somebody through the backdoor of Heaven and find out? Oh wait, no. It's portable and can't be found."

Sam sighed.

* * *

"Ye sold yer soul?" Gavin exclaimed. " _Sold it_?! For an extra three inches of willy?!"

"Priorities change," Crowley offered weakly. "I wasn't the bon vivant that I am now." At Gavin's confused look, he said, "I'll simplify—my soul did a stint in Hell where it became demonized. Then I had to possess another person so I could traffic with the living. Any of this sticking?"

"I-I-I can't be consorting with a demon!" Gavin cried.

"Not just any demon," Crowley corrected. "I'm the _King_ —the King of Hell!"

Gavin threw his arms up.

"And there you were, worried the old man wouldn't amount to much." Crowley smiled. Gavin stared at him.

* * *

An angel locked the door behind her, then headed to Ezra's cell to check on him. She reached the door and unlocked it.

Ezra was dead. Blood stained his shirt and face, surrounding a prominent blade wound. She stopped in her tracks.

After Castiel was informed of the murder, he now stood in the room from earlier with Sam and Dean, arms crossed over his chest.

"It's unbelievable," Sam huffed. "I mean, he was fine when we left him."

"I barely touched the guy," Dean added.

"Still shackled, no weapon," Sam continued. "It wasn't suicide."

"No," Cas agreed. His expression was grim. "This was an angel kill."

The brothers exchanged a look, then Dean said, "okay. Well, I'm gonna say it: maybe your operation's been hacked. You know, Metatron's got someone on the inside."

"I was sure everyone here was loyal," Cas murmured, shaking his head. "Finally united by a common cause."

"Well, that's the problem," said Dean. "See, you don't think anybody's lying. I think everybody's lying."

Cas met his gaze, eyebrows pinched together.

"It's a gift." Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "Let's do some nosin' around." He stood and exited the room. Sam went to follow him, but Cas called him back.

"You have a moment?" Cas asked.

"Yeah. What?" Sam replied warily.

"I wanted to ask you about Gadreel, the time he possessed you."

Sam stiffened. He looked away, gritting his teeth. "It's not really something I like to-"

"Sam, please," Cas urged.

Sam sighed a bit. His gaze darted around the room. The feeling of his grip on reality being yanked away from him, his vision blacking out, the sound of Kevin's screaming reaching his ears. He shook his head and cleared his throat. "He didn't possess me completely—more like, we, uh, shared housing. I was still me."

"Did you ever sense a presence?"

"I don't really know what I felt," Sam muttered. He didn't like to think about the way Gadreel made him feel; wrong, unsettled, like something wasn't exactly right or he couldn't get entirely comfortable no matter what he was doing. "I mean, maybe that I wasn't completely alone."

"Did you ever feel threatened?" Cas asked.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. Looking back on it... "No. More that he... wasn't at rest, l-like he had unfinished business. Now that we know more about him, I-I'd say he felt misunderstood."

"But not- not a danger, not hostile," Cas said.

"No." Sam bowed his head. "I was wrong, obviously. He killed Kevin."

Cas pressed his lips together, nodding slightly. Sam returned the gesture, then left, his steps quick and uneven as if he couldn't wait to be free of the conversation.

* * *

"' _Why do I hate ye_ '?"

Crowley lowered his newspaper, the poster image of disinterest. "I mean, I beat you, starved you, came home drunk, beat you some more, woke up hungover, and, yeah, I beat you. In all fairness, I didn't really have any role models. My mother was a witch."

"I grew up thinkin'— _knowin_ ' I was nothin'," Gavin snapped. "Less than nothin'! Ye worked me harder than the horse! Ye never let me go to school. To this day, I can't read!"

"It's overrated," Crowley told him, while reading the news. He got to his feet. "Most of Europe couldn't read. You want to read?" He reached out and touched Gavin's forehead. The boy flinched. "Read."

Gavin snatched the newspaper from him and lowered his gaze to the print. "Some buccaneers beat the saints? Can this be?"

Crowley stared at him.

"I can read," Gavin realized. He gasped.

"King of Hell," Crowley repeated. "Plenty of perks."

Despite himself, Gavin smiled. "So... if yer a king... that would make me... prince?"

"And you say I've never given you anything. A title!"

"And if I were to accept ye as my father," Gavin continued, "ye could keep me from eternally burning in Hell? No matter my sins?"

"You're _negotiating_ with me?" Crowley smiled proudly and chuckled. "That's my boy."

"This might work out," said Gavin. He sank into a seat, still grinning. "For the first time in my entire life, I can see possibilities, a future... just as soon as ye take me back to my own time and I can board that ship for the New World."

Crowley opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it once more. "Uh, about that ship..."

"What about the ship?"

A pause. Crowley pressed his lips together. "It's not important. You can tell Abbadon I'm ready for that chat," he added, addressing the demon near the door.

* * *

Castiel sat in the middle of a green, misty forest, watching his brother approach from across the clearing. The space was heavy with the scent of petrichor, and the rocks he was sitting on were chilly and damp. The soil beneath his feet was soft.

"Thank you for coming," Cas greeted. He rose to his feet. "And thank you for coming alone."

Gadreel halted a few paces before him. He stood less than an inch taller than Cas, making it easy to maintain eye contact. "I've seen you through Sam Winchester's eyes, and he trusts you. You have a reputation for honor."

"In some circles," Cas said. "As for reputations, yours precedes you."

"What happened in the Garden was not my doing," Gadreel snapped, suddenly on the defensive.

"I know you feel misunderstood," Cas told him. "And you're eager to redeem yourself and maybe more."

"You refer to my support of Metatron's campaign to rebuild Heaven?"

"Your support?" Cas questioned. "You've recruited for him. You've killed for him. And I know you truly believe it's for the greater good, but you've placed your faith in the wrong master."

"You don't know him," Gadreel replied stiffly.

"I know him too well, Gadreel!" Cas exclaimed. "I made the same mistake, and it led to the Fall."

"Which led to my second chance," Gadreel said.

"This is about more than just you."

"Castiel, are you suggesting I change loyalties?" Gadreel asked.

"I'm suggesting you reclaim your original loyalty—to the Heaven and mission we were made to serve."

"I thought that was exactly what I was doing," Gadreel said.

"You've been deceived," Cas told him after a moment. "And as bad as you've had it, all those centuries locked away, it will be _much_ worse under Metatron."

Suddenly, Gadreel's eyes shifted to something over Cas' shoulder. He shouted a warning, "Castiel!"

Cas' blade slipped into his hand. He whirled around and caught the attacking angel before he could land a blow. Behind him, Gadreel was engaged in similar combat. Together, the two, along with their guards, fought off the other angels and killed them, sending white light flaming out of their eyes and mouths as they paid the ultimate price for their ambush.

* * *

" _Give me your hand. That's it._ "

Dean sat alone in one of the various offices, staring at the wall and desperately trying to ignore the burning in his arm.

 _-Magnus pressing the First Blade into his hand_

 _the Mark lighting up with excitement as it pulsed and glowed, reunited with its weapon_

 _the overwhelming satisfaction when he finally killed the bastard_

 _chopped off his head with the Blade, fitting-_

His hand flew to his sleeve, tugging it back, baring the Mark to the air.

 _-Sam telling him, urging him "drop the blade, Dean"_

 _the power churning inside of him, burning him up from within_

 _"Dean."_

The room warped and twisted around him. The shadows swarming in the corners bore over him.

 _-something buzzing in the distance, his arm, the Mark, it must be-_

 _"Dean!"_

"Dean." Sam clapped his hands together. Dean jolted to attention. By the look on Sam's face, he'd been calling his name for a while. "What's wrong with you? Do you hear your phone?"

His phone. His phone was sitting on the table, ringing. Dean answered it with shaking fingers. "It's about time. Where the hell have you been?"

" _I told you I'd be in touch when I'd found Abbadon,_ " Crowley replied smoothly. " _Well... I'm in touch._ "

"Where are you?"

" _First things first. I'll give you the location of the First Blade. You two fetch it, I'll keep her in my sights, and then we'll remove her from the payroll for good._ " Back at the hotel, Crowley glanced up at Abbadon, who nodded in approval of his words.

Later that night, the Winchesters arrived at the shadowy St. Anthony's Cemetery, much to their collective dislike. Together, they dug up the coffin that Crowley described to them, then eased open the lid.

"Oh, come on, Crowley!" Sam exclaimed, grimacing at the body inside. The First Blade was nowhere to be seen. "You really, uh, have to hide the Blade in a corpse? Not- Not _with_ a corpse, but _in_ a corpse?"

"I gotta say, it's not the first place I'd look," Dean said. "Alright, here we go." He moved to reach for the corpse.

Something in the shadows growled. Sam stiffened.

"Dean?" Sam fixed his gaze on the dark treeline. "Do you hear that?"

Dean straightened. He, too, looked in the same direction. The growling grew louder.

"I'm guessing hellhound," Dean breathed. The growling morphed into a vicious bark. Dean stepped back. "Go. Go!"

The brothers whirled around and sprinted towards the church. The hellhound raced after them, invisible save for the dirt flying out in chunks behind it. When they reached the gates, they angled their bodies and slammed into the bars together, successfully breaking inside. They shoved the gates back in place right before the hellhound reached them; Sam slid a metal bar into place to hold them shut.

" _Hel-lo_?" Crowley answered, his voice infuriatingly amused.

"Dammit, Crowley, the grave is guarded!" Dean shouted over the barking hellhound.

" _That's absurd_."

"A hellhound!" Dean cried, indignant.

" _No, no, she was collected_."

"The hell she was!"

"Guys!" Sam shouted. He was struggling to hold the gates shut and the hellhound at bay. " _Guys_!"

" _Time was, no one would dare disobey the king_ ," Crowley continued nonchalantly.

"I'm gonna put you on speaker," Dean told him. He held out the phone towards the raging demonic beast.

" _Juliet_?" Crowley called. " _It's papa_. _Stand down_."

The hellhound went quiet. The rattling died down. A low whine came from the animal, but otherwise, it backed off. Panting heavily, Sam leaned against the gates, eyes wide.

" _You're welcome_."

The furious demon-dog now gone, Sam and Dean headed back to the grave. Dean scowled in the direction of the church. Both knelt beside the coffin. Dean sliced away the shirt, where they found a row of stitches covering the Blade, which Dean cut through.

"Alright," Dean said. "Goin' in."

Before he could even roll up his sleeve, Sam touched his arm.

"Hey, you know what, maybe, uh... maybe I should do this." Sam's expression was pleading.

"Sam, it's fine. I-I can safely grab it without... you know..." Dean trailed off, breaking down under Sam's puppy eyes. He leaned back, allowing Sam to reach for the body.

Sam sucked in a quick breath, then plunged his hand into the corpse. The blood and organs slipping around and squishing beneath his fingers made him gag. Grunting and wrinkling his nose in disgust, Sam eventually freed the First Blade from inside; the bone was coated in nasty, sticky fluids.

"Well, let's go kill a Knight of Hell, huh?" Dean offered, smiling.

"Yeah," Sam groaned. He waved the Blade, dislodging a few pieces of internal bits. "Ugh."

* * *

"What are ye talkin' about?" Gavin snapped. He stood in the doorway of a bedroom, glaring at his father. "Of course I'm boardin' the ship when I go back! I want to go back to my life!"

"It's not a good idea," Crowley insisted.

"I'm goin' to the Colonies. I'm workin' my way across. I've given my word!"

"Gavin, listen to your father. I know what's-"

Gavin slammed the door and locked it.

"-best for you," Crowley finished with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes. "Kids." Suddenly, his phone began to ring. He flipped it open. "Squirrel. I hope you were nice to _your_ father."

" _What? Shut up. Look, we got the Blade_."

"You do? Well, you need to get it here at once. Cleveland, Humboldt Hotel. Penthouse, of course. When you get here, I'll take you to Abbadon. I'll draw her out, and then you can skewer the ignorant hag." He glanced back at said ignorant hag, who gave him a reproachful look. He mouthed ' _just selling it_ ' at her.

" _Alright, we're on our way_."

"Oh, and Dean, you need to get a move on. It's a good day's drive from Poughkeepsie."

" _What are you talking about_? _We're not even near there_."

Crowley internally screamed at Dean's obliviousness. "Yeah, like I said, you need to leave Poughkeepsie right away." Then he hung up, desperately hoping his message was received.

"So, we good?" Sam asked, when Dean lowered the phone.

Dean fixed his gaze on the road. Crowley never said something without it meaning another. There was no way 'Poughkeepsie' was an accident.

Instead of informing Sam immediately, he said: "Yeah."

Back at the hotel, Crowley slipped his phone into his pocket.

"Nice," Abbadon praised. Then she narrowed her eyes. "But here's the thing—you've been plotting with those boys for some time now. When they get here, it'll be you, the Winchesters, the First Blade, and little old me in one place." She rose from where she was leaning. She reached into a nearby drawer. "Now, I don't mind stiff odds, but, let's be reasonable." She pulled out a gun, cocked it, and shot Crowley in the shoulder.

He stumbled and collapsed into a chair, clutching his wound. "Ah! 'Ave you lost your _mind_?!"

"Little trick I learned from Henry Winchester." Abbadon chuckled. She strode over to him, smirking. "He pulled the same stunt on me. I had a devil's trap carved in the bullet. You're not seriously damaged, just... powerless."

* * *

"I had nothing to do with it," Gadreel insisted. "I _never_ would have agreed to meet if I thought concealed assassins were going to try and attack you. I hope you know that."

They were now in the center of a bustling city, disguised in an alleyway. Castiel stood a safe distance away, now on edge from the attempt on his life.

"Why are you telling me this?" Cas asked warily. He watched Gadreel take a few steps forward; in return, he moved back.

"Even though you and I are on opposite sides in this situation, I believe there must be honor, even in matters of war." Gadreel spoke earnestly and with passion.

"But what happened—doesn't it prove my point about Metatron?" Cas said. "You met with me in good faith, but he lied, and he used you to get at me."

"Castiel—"

"Just as poor judgement undid you all those centuries ago," Cas told him sadly, "your mistaken trust in Metatron will bring you down again."

"I gave him my _word_. Do you expect me to come make war on him?"

"No. Not at all. I want you to stay right where you are," Cas said. "Just give me reports on what Metatron is planning and when he will strike."

Gadreel shook his head a bit. "And the honor we were speaking of?"

"Obviously, Metatron has someone inside my camp. It's how he knew we were meeting. Just fighting fire with fire." Cas stepped back, lips pressed into a tight line, then turned away. "Consider my offer."

* * *

~ _Humboldt Hotel_ ~

The Winchesters stepped out of the Impala and onto the curb. Sam held the First Blade—wrapped in cloth—in his hands. They both looked up at the hotel; it was tall, covered in windows, and no less extravagant than they expected of Crowley.

"Alright, let's do this," Sam said.

"Wait, wait, hold on a sec." Dean scanned the building. "We should give this place a once-over before we go up there."

"Okay. Why?"

"Crowley said he thought he saw some demons headed down to the basement," Dean told him. "He'd have checked it out himself, but if word got back to Abbadon that he'd been seen..."

"When did he say all this?" Sam asked, frowning.

"On the phone. Look, it might mean that she knows that he's here, okay? So why don't you check out the basement? I'll take a look on the main floor." Then he grabbed the First Blade and took off down the street, not allowing Sam to protest or question him.

Once he made it to the top floor, Dean pushed open a set of double doors, stepping cautiously into the lavishly decorated suite.

"Hello, Dean," Crowley greeted. He was sitting in a plush armchair near the fire, head tilted back. A slight grimace twisted his features. "Love the crazy bloodlust in your eyes."

Dean gripped the Blade tighter. He tapped the tip against his chest questioningly, seeing Crowley clutching his shoulder.

"Let's not waste time. I'll take you to Abbadon," Crowley said. "It's not far." His eyes flicked to the side.

Dean whirled around and stabbed an attacking demon in the chest, satisfaction welling up inside him at the sight of the reddish glow that signified his death. He wrenched the Blade free, sending the corpse crashing into a mirror.

Suddenly, an invisible force slammed into him, lifting him off his feet and pinning him roughly to the wall. He grunted in pain.

A low chuckle drew his attention. Abbadon strolled into view, smiling.

"A boy and his blade," she mused. "And still not match for the new queen." She held out her hand, and Dean let out a groan, the glass behind him crackling. "So, first... you'll die. Painfully. And the Crowley will watch his son die—"

Crowley's eyes went wide.

"—ditto," Abbadon said. "And then the King himself. And Blade destroyed. That's quite a to-do list."

Dean looked down at the First Blade in his hand. Gritting his teeth, he slowly, painstakingly, lifted his arm from the wall, despite Abbadon's hold on him. The Mark lit up orange beneath his sleeve. Abbadon narrowed her eyes and pushed back at him—it had no effect. Dean dropped to the floor, free. Now looking slightly nervous, Abbadon flung out her other hand, causing Dean to stumble, but he did not fall. He took one step forward; then another. A furious wind swirled around the room, shoving at him and tousling his hair, but the Mark continued to glow and he continued to fight against her power. A lamp toppled off the desk.

Abbadon marched forward and shoved at him. He lost his grip and tumbled back, hitting the wall once more. She laughed.

The First Blade had fallen to the ground. Dean reached for it, but Abbadon was too strong. She splayed her fingers, and he choked, her power shredding at his insides. She kept laughing, oblivious to the concentrated stare he was fixing on the Blade. The wind kicked up to a howl. On the floor, the Blade twitched. It shifted along the ground. It began to clatter violently, still inching across the floor, closer and closer to Dean's outstretched hand.

All at once, the Blade lifted into the air and landed in his palm.

The Mark burned.

Abbadon's lips twisted into a snarl.

Sam lunged into the room, just in time to see Dean charge at Abbadon. He thrust the Blade forward—it buried itself in her stomach. She cried out. A fiery orange glow lit up around the wound, casting eerie light over Dean's dark expression as his momentum lifted her off her feet, bright light flickering beneath her skin. Abbadon roared; yellow light flamed in her eyes and engulfed the room in terrible, blinding, searing glow, her skin burning from the cursed power of the First Blade.

The light went out. Dean yanked the now-bloodied Blade out and stabbed her again, and again, and again, mutilating her corpse with animalistic fervor, manic hatred gleaming in his summer green eyes.

"Dean!" Sam cried.

Panting raggedly, Dean continued to tear apart her body, her blood soaking his hands and face and Sam's pleas falling on deaf ears.

"Dean! _Stop_!" Sam begged.

Dean lifted the Blade to stab her again, but paused briefly at Sam's words.

"You can stop," Sam urged.

Silence. Dean's face was splattered with blood. He stared at Sam for a long moment, his eyes not really focused on anything. His hands trembling, he dropped the First Blade and gazed down at his crimson skin. The Mark's glow vanished.

* * *

Crowley wiggled the knife in his wound. "You could at least—ah!—help me with this."

Sam wrapped up the First Blade in a long strip of cloth. "We didn't kill you, Crowley, even though it would've been very easy. Isn't that enough?"

"You owe me," Crowley muttered. "Do I get no credit for warning you this was a trap?"

Frowning, Sam tilted his head in confusion.

"'Poughkeepsie'? Ring a bell?"

Dean lowered his gaze as Sam stared at him. Crowley glanced between them. At Sam's expression, he chuckled a bit.

"I sense drama~" he sing-songed.

"I just still can't get over the fact that Crowley has a son," Dean said, changing the subject. "How's he doing, by the way?"

"Ow!" Crowley exclaimed. He popped out the bullet and set it on the table with a clink. "How do you think?"

"You get that he's gotta go back, right?" Dean clarified, "to his own time?"

Crowley scowled. "If the lad goes back, his destiny is to board a ship bound for America. That ship went down in a storm. All hands were lost. He had _one_ chance in this world to change his life. You want that to all end in tragedy?"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Dean said. "Them's the rules. He goes back."

"The lore all says the same thing," Sam told him, his voice kinder than Dean's. "You change any one thing in the past, the ripple effect impacts everything that follows."

"Please," Crowley snapped. "No one bends the rules like you two bend the rules. He's one misfit kid. He impacts no one."

"You don't bend that rule, okay? You don't." Sam sighed at Crowley's pleading expression. "We'll take him back to the bunker, figure out the spell. That's the way it's gotta be."

"Can I at least say goodbye?" Crowley asked. At Sam's nod, he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to Gavin, who was sitting on a bed with his head in his hands. Crowley glanced back at them. "I'll cheer the day when the last trace of humanity leaves me. _Feelings_." He shuddered. As soon as he was inside the bedroom, the doors swung shut.

The brothers ran over and unlocked them.

Crowley and Gavin were gone.

"Dammit, Crowley!" Dean yelled.

* * *

"The ship went down?" Gavin let out a long sigh. "Well, that's a good fit with the rest of my life."

"Mustn't snivel, Gavin," Crowley told him. "It might fit the old life. This one could be different."

"I don't know the first thing about the twenty-first century!" Gavin exclaimed.

"You'll be fine. Just avoid cheap whiskey and cheap hookers." Crowley grimaced. "Look at me. Getting all fatherly."

A pause. "So this is goodbye, then?" Gavin asked.

"Yes. Forever. Unless, of course, I catch you smoking, in which case I'll smack you stupid."

Gavin chuckled. He raised his head and met Crowley's gaze. "Goodbye, then. And thank you... father." He opened his arms as if for a hug.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," Crowley warned, stepping back. He held up a hand. "As you were." Gavin's face fell. "Goodbye, Gavin. Oh, uh, don't go mentioning that whole 'Prince of Hell' thing. Doesn't play too well in most circles."

And then he was gone, and Gavin was alone.

* * *

"I didn't tell you about the warning because I knew exactly what you would do. You would make sure that you were right alongside me going in that room."

Sam stared at him incredulously. "You mean like we _always_ do? Because we're actually _partners_ in this and we watch each other's backs?"

"I don't expect you to understand," Dean said.

"Try me," Sam spat.

Dean glanced over at him for the first time. There was a long pause before he spoke. "First time I touched that blade... I knew. I knew that I wouldn't be stopped. I knew I would take down Abbadon and anything else if I had to. And it wasn't a hero thing, you know, it wasn't... It was just calm. I knew. And I had to go it alone, Sammy."

Despite wanting to scream in frustration, Sam only scoffed. "Oh, of _course_. So it was just another time where you had to protect me."

"You could've gotten nabbed by Abbadon, and she could've bargained her way out," Dean argued. "We couldn't afford to screw this up."

Sam shook his head and looked away. He was always the weakness, always the screw-up in these situations. He didn't voice this. "Look... I'm glad it worked out, okay? I am. And I'm glad the Blade gives you strength or calm or whatever, but Dean, I gotta say... I'm starting to think the Blade is doing something else, too."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I don't know, like, something _to_ you. Look, I'm thinking until we know for sure that we're gonna kill off Crowley, why don't we store the Blade somewhere distant?" Sam suggested. "Lock it up somewhere safe? Okay?"

Dean paused for less than a second.

"No."


	12. 10x3 - Soul Survivor

"... _hunc sanguinem sacro, et donantibus sanguinem, debita dimitto._ " The young priest cleared his throat. " _D-Dolorem remitteat, et voluntati dei serviat._ " He kissed his cross, then glanced over at Sam Winchester, who gave him a nod. "Doctor," he acknowledged.

"Father," Sam replied. When the priest was gone, he gathered up the medical container with the label 'HUMAN BLOOD'.

When Sam arrived back in the bunker, anxiety began to build inside him. His breathing turned shallow as he turned the corner towards the dungeon. With one hand—his other was in a cast—he stepped into the storage room, then unlocked the dungeon door.

Chained to a chair beneath a dim bulb, shadows casting eerily over his eyes, was Dean Winchester.

A jolt of fear hit Sam, but he refused to let Dean see he was intimidated. He walked into the room, clutching the purified blood.

"Really?" Dean drawled.

"For whatever it's worth," Sam said, "I got your blood type."

"Sam I know you think you're gonna try and fix me, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't wanna be fixed? Just let me go live my life. I won't bother you."

Sam unwrapped the vials on a table.

"What do you care?" Dean finished, one eyebrow arched.

"What do I care?" Sam stared at Dean. He shook his head. He began sprinkling holy water over the devil's trap on the floor, chanting in Latin as he went.

"You think I'm just gonna sit here like Crowley, getting all weepy while you shoot me up?" Dean asked. He cracked a sarcastic smile. "Well, screw that. _I don't want this_."

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out," Sam muttered.

"You don't even know if this is gonna work, do you? You know, I got a helluva lot more running through me than just demon juice."

"Mark of Cain—got it," Sam replied.

"That's right." Dean leaned forward slightly, causing the shadows to form dark circles around his eyes. He knew all the right ways to scare Sam.

Sam gripped the blood-filled syringe tightly. "Buckle up."

"Sammy... you know I hate shots."

"I hate demons." Sam stepped forward. Dean's eyes flicked black and he snarled at Sam, who sprayed him with holy water and plunged the needle into his forearm, right beneath the Mark of Cain. Dean hissed as his skin steamed. "Look, we got a whole bunch more of these to go," Sam told him, moving back. "You could make it a lot easier on yourself."

Dean gave him a defiant look. Suddenly, his eyebrows pinched together as he exhaled sharply. He winced and grunted, tossing his head back with a cry of pain, then groaned hoarsely. Sam pressed his lips together.

* * *

Castiel gripped the steering wheel, gazing out at the dark street ahead. He could feel Hannah's gaze on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look.

"How are you holding up?" she asked him finally, breaking the ice.

"Fine," Cas replied.

Hannah sighed. "You say you're fine, but you don't _look_ fine."

"It's what the humans do," Cas said. "They _say_ they're fine—and even if I don't look it, you say I look well, and in that way, we avoid talking about something we can do nothing about."

Hannah clenched her jaw unhappily. "I'm sorry. I just can't see how Sam Winchester could ask you to drive all this way to help with his brother, knowing your condition."

Cas looked away. Hannah frowned at him.

"He doesn't know," she realized. "About how badly your borrowed grace is fading, does he?"

"He knows some," Cas muttered. "And he didn't have to ask. Sam is alone in this. He's attempting to change Dean from demon to human with a cure of sanctified blood, but..." He winced. "... there's no guarantee that will work. If it doesn't, then Dean is gone, and the demon must be dealt with."

"I just..." Hannah sucked in a breath. "I worry about you."

Cas met her earnest stare briefly, but quickly turned back to the road. This dynamic was growing too personal for his liking.

* * *

The next injection. Sam finished pressing the syringe and stepped back. Dean groaned and took in a ragged breath, and for a hot second, Sam doubted he was doing the right thing.

"For all you know, you could be killing me," Dean managed.

"Or—" Sam set down the syringe. He leaned against the table. "—you're just messing with me. Either way, the lore doesn't say anything about exceptions to the cure."

Dean chuckled. "'The lore'. Hunters... Men of Letters... what a load of crap it all is." Sam was silent. "Oh, you got nothin'?"

"You want me to debate you?" Sam asked wearily. "This isn't even the real you I'm talking to."

"Oh, it's the real me alright. The _new_ real me—the me that sees things for what they really are." Dean tipped his head back casually. "Winchesters—do gooders—fighting the natural order. Let me tell you something—guys like me? We _are_ the natural order. It's the way it was set up."

"Guys like me still gotta do what we can," Sam replied.

"Don't be so full of yourself, Sammy," Dean chided. "Cause, see, from where I'm sitting, there ain't much difference from what I turned into to what you already are."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I know what you did when you went looking for me. I know how far you went. Crowley told me all about. So, let me ask you..." Dean offered a condescending smirk. "... which one of us is really a monster? Hm?

Sam stared at him. He exhaled shakily.

"Starting to come back to you now?" Dean taunted.

 _"What am I supposed to do now?" a man slurred at the bar counter, well into his fifth drink. "It's like my life is over." He waved a hand as the guy beside him took off. "Bitch," he muttered. "I should've seen it coming. Why doesn't anything ever work out for me? Huh."_

 _Sam slid into the seat next to him. "Hey, there."_

 _Lester regarded him with crossed eyes. "Hi."_

 _"Sounds like, uh, things have been a little rough on you lately, huh?"_

 _"Rough?" Lester scoffed. "My wife kicked me to the curb."_

 _"Oh."_

 _"We haven't had sex for four months," he continued. "Four. Well, not that—not that she hasn't been having plenty... with a guy in her bowling league—guy with tattoos. Did him right there on the kitchen table while I was at work."_

 _"Man," Sam sympathized. "That's, uh, that's cold."_

 _"Now all I think about is revenge," Lester admitted. "Payback." He chuckled mirthlessly. "But that's not gonna happen."_

 _"I wouldn't be so sure about that."_

 _Lester swiveled to look at him._

 _"It is possible that you can have your revenge," Sam elaborated. "I mean, hell, it's possible you can have pretty much anything you want."_

"You were trying to get a 20 on Crowley and me from any demon you could snag," Dean said. "But Crowley didn't wanna be found, and no one showed when you summoned. But you found a way, didn't you, Sam?"

 _Sam patted down the soil over the box with his shovel, then stepped back. His victim stood beside him, clutching a paper awkwardly. Sam cast his gaze around._

 _"Alright, stand right here," Sam instructed. "When I say so, read the words off the paper."_

 _"A-Are you sure about this?" Lester asked nervously._

 _"Yeah. Trust me." Sam retreated a few feet down the road, then crouched in a nearby bush. The darkness helped him blend into the shadows. As soon as he was amply hidden, he called out, "alright, go ahead."_

 _"Okay, um..." Lester steeled himself. "_ Demon esto subiectus voluntari _—"_

"Tati! _" Sam corrected. "_ Voluntati!"

 _"Oh._ Voluntati _."_

 _"Who summons me and for what purpose?" a demon asked, announcing her presence loudly and arrogantly. Her voice echoed eerily, and her eyes were blood red._

 _The paper fell from Lester's hands. He stepped forward. "Kill my wife—" he said._

 _Sam lunged out of his hiding spot. "Lester!"_

 _"—and my soul is yours," Lester finished._

 _"Don't!" Sam cried. "No!"_

 _"Done," the demon promised. She leaned forward and sealed the deal._

"You would've liked to have gotten there before the deal went down," Dean said. "But you didn't really care about poor 'ol Lester, did you?"

 _The demon sucked in a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling and causing her chains to rattle. Sam leaned close._

 _"Why don't we try that again?"_

 _"Nobody knows where Crowley and your brother are," the demon insisted, her voice nearly a growl. At Sam's silence, she cried, "they're off the radar!"_

 _Sam only held up a knife, glinting silver in the moonlight. He reached over and pressed the tip into her skin, eliciting a cry of pain from the demon._

 _"Kill me if you want to!" she shrieked. She strained against her chains, teeth gritted. "That's all I know. I got nothing for you. And you made that poor son of a bitch sell his soul."_

"Oh, and so you know," Dean continued casually, "I killed Lester myself. And that wife of his married the tattoo guy."

Sam smacked his hands against the table. "I never meant—"

"Who cares what you meant?!" Dean snarled. "That line that we thought was so clear between us and the things that we hunted ain't so clear, _is it_? Wow. You might actually be worse than _me_. I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life _and_ his soul." He chuckled mockingly. "Nice work."

Eyes narrowed, Sam jabbed the needle into the back of Dean's neck, no longer as gentle as before. When he yanked it back out, Dean let out a hoarse shout, face contorting with pain. Even through his obvious discomfort, he managed a dark chuckle. Sam tossed down the needle, shoulders heaving.

"Let me ask you this, Sammy. If this doesn't work... we both know what you gotta do to me, right?" Dean exhaled. "You got the stomach for that, _Sam_?!"

Sam refused to look at Dean—no, the demon—because his emotions played out so easily on his face, and to look would confirm the demon's words. He had to stay strong. And if not for himself...

... then for Dean.

* * *

~ _Hell_ ~

"You stand accused of high treason." Crowley's smooth voice rang out across the throne room, causing the demon in shackles to flinch. "Take her away."

Another demon grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her off, out of sight.

Someone handed Crowley another sheet of paper. He crossed one leg over the other, lounging comfortably on the throne. Sometimes, he forgot that Hell wasn't all murder and torture—it was business too. He was good at business, sure. He had the intelligence, the means, the charisma, but he detested the constant paperwork. So boring.

"What's this, then?" Crowley asked, inspecting the document. "Oh, goody, something else to sign. 'Henceforth and forthwith, for the furtherance and expedience and regulation and... yeah. Sure." He scrawled his title messily on the paper.

"Your Majesty," a demon spoke, striding up to him. "Supplicants await without."

Crowley blinked. "Without what?"

The demon bit his lip. "Outside."

"Let them wait," Crowley said.

"They've waited a long time."

"It's Hell," Crowley reiterated. "You wait. It's what you do." He glanced back to the first demon, who was handling his papers, then to the second. He arched an eyebrow. "You're still here."

"I have an update on the angel Castiel," the demon barreled on, looking more nervous by the minute. "His grace seems to be fading. He's losing strength. If one were so inclined, this would be a propitious time for one to eliminate him."

"'One'?" Crowley questioned. He hated this demon. Who uses the word 'propitious' in a casual sentence?

"You, sire," the demon clarified quickly.

"Borrowed grace does have a puny shelf life," Crowley mused. "Castiel should have read the warning label." His tone shifted to a command. "Follow him and keep me informed as to his decline."

The demon bowed his head and retreated, seemingly eager to be free of the conversation. Crowley shared that very same sentiment.

Alas, being without company left him to his less desirable ponderings. Dean Winchester sauntered brashly into his thoughts, sparkling eyes flashing in that charming way of his. Crowley hated him as hunter.

But he hated Dean as a demon even more.

And yet. He remembered the casual banter between them, the strange sort of pull he felt towards Dean. He thought his human emotions were buried deep; obviously not.

 _"What's it look like?" Dean said, smirking._

 _Crowley stared at him, then at the woman beside him. "In my bed?!"_

 _Dean raised his hands as if to lament, 'well what can ya do?'_

 _"Jerk."_

 _"Bitch."_

Crowley rested his chin in his hands. A sigh that was more like a ragged gasp escaped him.

 _"The King of Hell, Dean Winchester by his side," Crowley urged, an excited pitch filled with passion he'd never had before. "Together, we rule. Together, we create the perfect Hell."_

 _Dean only knocked back another drink. Crowley tried to convince himself the pang of hurt in his chest was only the alcohol._

Crowley was not the first and would not be the last to fall blindly for those summer green eyes.

"Great one?" A pause. "Your Majesty?"

Crowley jolted. A demon stood before him, and by the look on his face, he'd been calling Crowley for a while.

"Are you... alright?" the demon asked tentatively.

"I was thinking of better days," Crowley admitted.

"Yes—your sabbatical."

"My what?" Crowley sat up, eyes narrowed.

"Uh, we were worried, of course," the demon said, as though unsure if to backtrack but eager to continue all the same. "Your misadventures with the older Winchester was quite the topic of speculation. If you'll forgive my boldness..." He hesitated. At Crowley's expectant look, he said, " _I_ could now be your wingman."

"Could you?" Crowley questioned. He didn't entertain the idea for one moment, but seeing the demon squirm was worth it. No one could replace Dean.

"I, too, love to party," the demon tried. "And I do love the ladies and the classic rock-and-roll. Most importantly, I can debauch by your side without being a personal embarrassment. You'll see what I'm worth."

That was it. The line. Daring to insinuate that Crowley in any way considered Dean an _embarrassment_... Too far. But Crowley said none of this.

"Oh, I can see already," Crowley told him. The demon smiled hopefully. Then Crowley snapped his fingers.

The demon turned to dust. The ashes billowed up from where he was standing, causing Crowley to fan it away from his face irritably. Around the room, other demons turned to stare, lips pressed together and eyes downcast.

"Anyone else care to comment?" Crowley called, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

Silence. Good.

* * *

The car door slammed shut. Castiel gave a near imperceptible sigh of frustration, but Hannah heard it anyway.

"Sorry, I... missed another turn," she apologized, scanning a map with guilty eyes. "I have no idea where the main road is." She frowned down at their car. "These things—they're so confining and primitive. It's..." As Cas leaned wearily against the car, face contorted in discomfort, Hannah walked around to face him. "It's getting worse, isn't it? Castiel, it's time we stopped avoiding the obvious. You and I _both_ know how to fix this—both you and the situation."

"I will not slit some angel's throat and steal its grace," Cas vowed, despite his own stolen grace writhing painfully at the declaration. "Before you say it, we definitely are _not_ going begging to Metatron."

"What about helping your friend?" Hannah asked. "And sending the rogue angels back to Heaven? Your preference to die for principals—it's very noble, but it is meaningless."

"Then _you_ carry on."

"I'm not enough," Hannah insisted.

"Sometimes, enough is whatever you have," Cas told her quietly.

Hannah gritted her teeth, lowering her gaze. When Cas shifted as if to move away, she grasped his arm. Not his hand, but his wrist, and it was close enough. She met his eyes. Her expression was pleading, but beneath it... Castiel saw something else. Something that they couldn't afford to humor.

His ringing cell phone interrupted their quiet, awkwardly intimate encounter. She released him and shuffled back, allowing him his space.

Cas raised the phone to his ear. "Sam?"

" _Cas_ ," Sam replied. He sounded tired; Cas couldn't blame him. " _Hey, you still coming?_ "

"I'm a few hours away," Cas told him. "Is the treatment working?"

" _No, not very well. Look, it's—it's not like it was with Crowley. Dean's in pain. I mean, he's in bad pain. I-It's like he's barely holding on._ " Sam paused. The grief in his voice was hard for Cas to listen to. " _Cas, I might be killing him._ "

"It might be," Cas said.

" _So... what? Should I stop?_ "

"And do what? He's not possessed," Cas pointed out. "Exorcism is out of the question. The ritual of purified blood is the only treatment I know."

" _Cas, did you not hear what I just said? I could be killing my brother._ "

Castiel winced. He didn't like the idea of Dean dying any more than Sam did, but the twisting grace inside him and the sweltering heat around him was resulting in a bitter mood. "Sam, he's _not_ your brother—at least not now. You have to be prepared for—"

" _Killing my brother,_ " Sam finished. His exhausted sigh over the phone made Cas wish he'd been a bit more sympathetic.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Cas promised, trying to soften his tone. He glanced back at Hannah, whose expression was unreadable.

"Yeah, alright. I'll, um, I'll leave the entry unlocked for you. Just hurry." As Sam hung up, he turned the corner back into the cell, only to find Dean slumped over in his seat, eyes closed.

A spike of fear shot through Sam. He rushed over and slapped Dean across the face, then grabbed his chin.

"Hey," Sam snapped. "Dean! Come on! Come back." He shook Dean's shoulder roughly.

Dean gave a low moan and whispered, "no..."

"Come back to me," Sam urged. "You there? Hey! Dean, you okay?"

Groaning, Dean's eyes fluttered open. His forehead wrinkled as he grimaced. "Yeah, if you consider drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils 'okay'." Great. He kept his twisted sense of humor.

Sam withdrew cautiously. Regret tinged his voice. "Look, I can't stop doing this."

"Sure you can," Dean managed weakly. "You just stop. There's not point in trying to bring your brother back now."

"Oh, I _will_ bring him back," Sam promised.

"In fact, your, uh, guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been M.I.A. for quite some time now." Sam didn't like it, but the demon's voice rang with truth. "But I'm loving the new model—lean, mean, Dean."

"Right," Sam muttered.

"You notice that I tried to get as far away from you as possible?" Dean remarked. "Away from your whining, your complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you. Maybe I was just tired of babysitting you, or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since..." He chuckled, noticing Sam's flinch. "... forever. Or maybe—maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn't for _you_. That your very _existence_ sucked the life out of my life."

Sam wheeled around and stared Dean in the eyes. He smiled, but rather than appearing triumphant, he only looked broken. "This isn't my brother talking."

"You never _had_ a brother!" Dean snarled. "Just an excuse for not manning up. But guess what. I quit."

"No. No, you don't," Sam replied. His plastic smile wavered as he jabbed a finger at Dean. "You don't get to quit. We don't get to quit in this family. This family is _all_ we have every had!"

"Well, then we got _nothin'_ ," Dean snapped.

"Would you say that to Dad?"

"Dad?" Dean scoffed. "Oh, _there's_ a prize. Here's a man who brainwashed us into _wasting_ our lives fighting his losing battle." He watched Sam grab the next syringe. "Oh. Ooh. Is this you manning up?"

Sam lifted the needle. "This is me, yanking _your_ lame ass out of the fire." With the force he used doing the injection, it could qualify as stabbing. Dean gave a wheezy chuckle as Sam stormed off, the door slamming shut behind him.

* * *

~ _Hell_ ~

"You have coerced others into aligning with Abbadon." Crowley's slightly-bored voice rang out across the throne room as he gazed down disdainfully on his next prisoner. The demon only glared balefully back. "You've spread rumors and fostered doubt as to the competence and authority of the crown. Guilty of treason. The sentence is death." He passed off the document to an accounting demon. Those fools were obsessed with their paperwork, like Crowley used to be.

The demon let out a choked noise as the blade stabbed between his ribs. Orange light flickered beneath his skin before going out.

"Anyone else hungry to betray me?" Crowley sneered. His cold, all-business smile returning, he said, "next." When another demon was dragged before him, he was near succumbing to his boredom. He scanned the document in less than a second. "You're guilty of... something, which I won't tolerate, whatever it was. You are condemned to—"

"Stop, stop!" someone cried, stepping into the light. The demon stood in front of the prisoner, as if to shield him.

"Stop?" Crowley questioned.

"You cannot do this," the demon said. His eyes gleamed with desperation and something else... something resembling fear. But he was not afraid of Crowley. That much was clear.

"Weren't you watching? 'Course I can. I just did."

"This is your idea of ruling?" the demon asked.

"Yes," Crowley replied. He would have put an end to the mutiny right there and then, but this recklessly bold demon intrigued him. He leaned back to listen.

"We've killed and tortured for you, stolen souls, destroyed lives, tempted and tormented with distinction. And for all this, what's our reward?" The demon's lip curled. "A slap in the face." He dug into his pocket and yanked out a flask. When he shook it, liquid sloshed around inside.

Immediately jumping to the obvious conclusion—holy water—the demons around the room burst into nervous chatter and drew back, crowding into the edges to protect themselves and their brethren. Someone cried, "get back!'

"You disappear," the demon snapped, "you binge on blood, approach the edge of becoming human. And salt in the wound—you run off with your boy toy, Dean Winchester, and now he's running amok, and you can't control him _or_ the kingdom."

"What's he doing?" someone muttered. Another whispered, "what does he have?"

"You've squandered our loyalty," the demon accused.

"What will you do?" Crowley wondered aloud, twirling a pen in one hand. The comment about Dean struck him, but he refused to show it. He just regarded this rebel calmly. Let them talk, vent, whatever, and then he'd kill them in the end. Make a proper example out of these insurgents.

"Not live in a Hell you've made." The demon unscrewed the flask and poured the contents over himself.

The pungent scent brought a memory of holy oil to the forefront of Crowley's thoughts. He tossed the flask to the ground with a clatter, then flicked open a lighter. Crowley watched him in confusion. And then, with one last bitter scowl of defiance, the demon touched the tiny flame to the holy oil. Fire promptly exploded from his shirt and engulfed him, drowning out his agonized shrieks with crackling and the scent of burning flesh. The demons around him yelled and scattered, pressing themselves against the walls in terror. Even in his immense pain, the burning demon managed to pin Crowley with hateful glare.

The demon fell to his knees. His skin boiled and blackened, scorched until he was unrecognizable. And still, his corpse burned.

"Did _not_ see that coming," Crowley murmured.

* * *

Castiel and Hannah stopped at an old, worn down gas station to refuel. The sun bore down on them, casting down waves of unrelenting heat. Hannah started to walk towards the entrance when Cas called her back.

"You know," Cas began awkwardly, "this—this road we're on, it's—it's dangerous."

"Alright."

"Um..." Cas tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't directly address the issue, but would hopefully get through to her all the same. He'd learned a lot about subtext from Dean. "We can't afford to lose our way."

"I know that," Hannah said, nodding. "I'm sorry about the map."

"No detours of _any_ kind," Cas told her firmly.

Hannah scoffed lightly. "Castiel, if these are metaphors and you're attempting another human communication, it isn't working."

Cas sighed and broke their eye contact. His face felt hot, but not from the sun. "I'm just trying to say that this mission is everything."

"I know that," Hannah repeated.

"Getting to Dean and hunting these rogues—I'm not at full capacity, so I..." Cas didn't know why he was still talking, still making this bad conversation worse. His grace wasn't the only thing causing discomfort at this point. " _We_ n-need total focus."

"Like a laser," Hannah agreed. "Got it."

"Just—I've been around humans for long enough to see..." Guilt hit him as Hannah's blank mask wavered for the first time. "... how easily distractions occur."

"'Distractions'." Hannah nodded slightly, sucking in a breath.

"Emotions, feelings," Cas continued, "they're dangerous temptations."

"How very Biblical, Castiel," Hannah commented.

Mentally smacking himself, Cas said, "I don't mean to be unkind."

"You don't need to be kind," Hannah assured him quietly.

"I just... I'm trying to keep our priorities clear."

"Not to worry, then." By the look on Hannah's face, there was something to worry over. "I am very clear on my priorities. And yours." Her steps quick and uneven, Hannah spun on her heel and marched inside the store, letting Cas watch her go with an apology on his lips and sadness in his chest.

When Hannah closed the door with a light jingle, she released a long, shaky breath. She swallowed thickly and began to scan the shelves for anything they might need later.

Only when that uncanny silence stretched on longer than it should have did she grow suspicious. She found it especially odd that no one greeted her upon her entrance. It was a human custom to always greet other humans (or those they believed to be human). No one else occupied the store.

"Hello?" she called out uncertainly.

Her gaze landed on a mug knocked sideways over the counter. The contents were dripping off the counter; abandoned by its drinker. She stepped forward, dreading what she would find.

On the floor, sprawled out behind the counter, was a dead cashier.

His eyes were burned out of his head.

Outside, Castiel finished getting fuel and headed over to the store, wondering what was taking Hannah so long. He swung open the door, only to stop in his tracks.

"Hey, there," Adina purred. She held an angel blade dangerously close to Hannah's throat, a scowl twisting her features when Cas walked in.

He took a step forward. She dug the knife in deeper, causing Hannah to gasp.

"I've been tracking you for days," Adina told him. "You _will_ be punished for what you did."

"Daniel's death—that was unintentional, Adina," Cas tried. "I feel you know this."

"Unintentional?" Adina hissed. "You killed him!" She shoved Hannah roughly away, sending her crashing into racks of merchandise with a cry of pain.

Castiel's blade slipped into his hand. Adina eyed it with disdain.

"Seriously?"

Adina met his blow with a quick disarming maneuver, knocking the blade away, then punched him across the face. Cas reeled backwards, breathing heavily. He leaned on the shelf as the stolen grace refused to cooperate and heal him.

"Just... kill me," he gasped, fighting the urge to collapse where he stood. "But let her go."

"Stop," Hannah forced out.

"'Stop'," Adina mocked. An ugly sneer marred her otherwise pretty face. "'Kill me'. I mean, so many suggestions, I don't know what to do. I know—I _will_ kill you, Castiel, but very, very slowly so your—your honeybunch can watch. Sound good?" And with that, she kicked him viciously in the chest, momentum hurling him through the large window and slamming him into the ground. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

Storming through the newly-made hole, Adina grabbed him by the shirt collar and began to strike him, over and over with desperate passion, fueled by only her hatred and grief over the angel who didn't have to die.

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

Sam opened the door to Dean's room and flicked on the lights. Everything was untouched. He hadn't come in here since Dean left. Guns hanging from one wall, books tucked messily into low shelves, the sheets folded neatly, his magazines and other newspapers strewn about. This place was Dean in every aspect.

One one desk was an old carton of pie, the lid still flipped open. Sam picked it up and moved to throw it away, but something else on the desk made him pause. Beneath a notebook, tucked into the brittle pages, was a stack of photographs. Sam recognized them immediately.

The top one was a picture of Mary Winchester, laughing as young Dean wrapped his arms around her.

Sitting down on the bed, Sam flipped to the next picture. Unbidden, his lips turned up at the corners, warmth blooming in his chest.

John and Mary grinning, so close to the camera they weren't fully in the frame. Sam and Dean on each side of Bobby Singer, who was older and shorter than both but still smiled the brightest. Dean turned away, half-hiding a flustered chuckle, while Sam openly laughed at him. The last picture showed the brothers sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, both smiling at someone beyond the frame. Their smiles were genuine. Their laughter was real. Dean still had a spark of hope in his eyes.

Sam's fingers trembled. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have come in here.

He put the pictures back on the desk and shut the door as quickly as possible, the very last photo still clutched in his hands. He kept the lights on as if, somehow, he could keep the darkness at bay.

But how do you banish the darkness if it's inside of you?

* * *

Cas' vision warped and twisted, ebbing and flowing like the pain deep in his core. Not just from Adina's beating, no, but stemming from the grace of his brothers and sisters he'd wrongfully stolen. He deserved whatever retribution came with such a crime.

Interrupting his peaceful—albeit rather blurry view of the ground—came a pair of sleek black dress shoes. They stopped right beside his head, sending little vibrations trembling beneath him. He painstakingly raised his gaze up, up, up—

Only to find the King of Hell leering down at him.

"Hey, champ," Crowley said. Glass crunched beneath his heel as he scanned Cas from head to toe. "Look at you. Talk about roadkill."

Inside the store, Hannah let out a cry of pain as Adina traced the blade across her skin.

"Attagirl, Hannah," Adina praised. She grabbed Hannah by a lock of her hair. "Suffer. Just like my Daniel suffered before you killed him."

"Daniel's death isn't on _my_ head," Hannah shot back. "It's on _yours_."

"We did nothing," Adina spat. Her voice broke. "We wanted nothing but to be left alone."

"You killed an angel. You had to answer for it."

"An angel who would have hauled us back to that Heaven of yours," Adina said. She pressed the blade tip below Hannah's chin. "You should have left us alone."

"And that will do," said a voice behind them.

Adina whirled around to find Crowley standing there, his expression betraying only patient amusement. As soon as she rose to face him, his blade flicked across her neck, faster than she could see, filling the room with a low ringing noise. Crowley lifted a vial to the slit and watched the silvery-white grace slip out of her. When he was finished, he shoved his blade through her chest.

"Why can't you people just sit on clouds and play harps like you're supposed to?" Crowley lamented, aiming his question at a battered Hannah. She could see his true form, being an angel, but to her credit, she didn't flinch away. He yanked the blade out and capped the vial with a little plastic skull lid. Ignoring the questioning look Hannah gave him, he turned around and went back outside for Castiel.

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

Sam rounded the corner into the dungeons and froze.

The chair within the Devil's Trap was empty. The ropes were sawed off, and the handcuffs lay broken in the seat.

Dean was gone.

Panic seized him. A demon was on the loose in his home, and with added strength from the Mark of Cain, a physical confrontation would only end with Sam dead on the floor. He needed to be smart about this. _Play the game with your head, not your fists._

He crept into another hallway and held still, waiting for a noise, anything. Then, in the distance, a door clicked shut. With a silent step, Sam turned and fled around the corner, descending deeper into the bunker.

Dean walked through that hallway a moment later, his stride filled with purpose. He swung open the closest door, checked the room, then moved onto the next one.

Meanwhile, Sam was in the main area, back pressed against a pillar. He was trembling badly, but his breathing had never been steadier. He could do this. He would fix his brother.

The light from above was slanting and awkward, slashing irregular patterns over Sam's tense face. The table had an abandoned beer sitting on top, and the map still glowed faintly. At least he could see. Slowly, carefully, he peeked around the pillar, and once he was sure Dean wasn't there, he darted out into the open, the demon knife clenched tightly in one hand. He quietly slid open a drawer and picked up the ring of keys inside. To prevent them from clattering, he wrapped his hand around the keys and closed the drawer.

A clatter in the distance made him jump. Heart pounding wildly, he slipped back into the winding tunnels. This was one shitty, shitty game of hide-and-seek.

Dean pulled open a kitchen drawer. He reached inside and picked up a butcher knife—turning it over, rubbing the hilt with his thumb—until he sighted another weapon. The hammer was heavier, but he knew it would cause more damage. Perfect.

"Come on, Sammy!" he called, spinning the hammer once. "Don't you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time?"

He stalked down the hallway, tossing the hammer from hand to hand leisurely. When he reached his own room, he lifted his foot and kicked in the door with a crash. He found the space empty.

In the control room, Sam opened the metal gate and slipped inside. He couldn't let Dean leave; that would ruin all the work he's done so far. So he opened a panel in the wall, wrapped his hand around the lever, and yanked it down.

The bunker lights went out, with only the emergency lights continuing to flash an eerie red, accompanied with a droning alarm. Everything powered down, sealing the brothers inside.

Suddenly plunged into darkness, Dean cracked a smile for the first time. "Smart, Sam," he said. "Lockin' the place down. Doors won't open. I get it. But here's the thing: I don't wanna leave! Not 'til I find you."

 _Clink._

Dean's head snapped to the side, his grin absolutely wolfish. He took off down the hallway.

The main area was just as dark as the rest of the bunker. A few red lights here and there, but empty. Dean called his brother's name again, not that he really expected an answer.

"You're just makin' this worse for you yourself, man!" Dean continued loudly. "Oh, by the way, you can, uh, blame yourself for me gettin' loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human—well, the less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked." He spread his arms wide, pausing in the entryway of the library. "And that Devil's Trap—well, I just walked right across it. It smarted." He waved a finger. "But still..." He yanked open another drawer to find the keys gone. How unfortunate.

At least he knew where Sam was now.

When he reached the control room, the door was left open by a crack. Now, Sam wasn't that stupid. Probably hiding somewhere in there, the little coward. Too afraid to face Dean head-on.

Well, Dean wasn't afraid of his pain-in-the-ass little brother.

He pushed the door open, barely able to hear the creaking over the blaring alarm. He stepped in, his gaze sweeping over the corners with enhanced vision. He could see as if it were daylight in here.

Dean grabbed the lever and shoved it back up. The lights flickered on, and proper functioning returned to the bunker. Finally. That damn alarm was getting on his nerves.

"Yeah, that's more like it," Dean muttered.

Then, from outside the door, Sam lunged for the handle and slammed the door shut, locking Dean inside.

"That's your big move?" Dean taunted from within.

Sam held up the knife to the door, as if that would make any difference in the end. He was shaking violently, but his voice remained steady.

"Listen to me, Dean!" Sam urged. "We were getting close, okay? I know you're still in there somewhere. Just let me finish the treatments."

Silence. If anything, that was scarier than Dean's echoing threats.

"Dean?"

 _Thud._

The door trembled. Sam stumbled back, nearly tripping over himself in his terror. A sliver of wood splintered and fell from the door. The head of Dean's hammer became visible as he hit the door, over and over with impossible strength.

"You act like I _want_ to be cured!" Dean exclaimed.

The door shuddered under the force of his blows. Dean broke past enough wood so Sam could see his face; that hungry, manic gleam in his eyes that shocked Sam to the core.

"Personally," Dean continued, "I like the disease."

"Dean, stop that!" Sam shouted, watching in horror as Dean smashed his way through the door that wouldn't hold up for much longer. "Look, I don't want to use this blade on you!"

"Oh!" Dean paused to speak. "That sucks for you, doesn't it? Cause you really mean that." He tipped his head back and laughed, gearing up for another hit.

"Look, if you come out of that room, I won't have a choice!"

"Sure you will!" Dean shot back. His entire head and shoulders were visible now. "And I know which one you'll make. Isn't that right, Sammy? But see, here's the thing." He drew back, adjusting his grip on the hammer. "I'm lucky. Oh hell, I'm blessed! Cause there's just enough demon left in me that killing you? It ain't no choice at all." Then he was striking the door with renewed vigor, eyes narrowed in concentration, before he kicked away the last shreds of wood and stepped into the hall. Sam spun on his heel and fled.

* * *

Crowley uncapped the grace and started to bring it to Cas' lips. Cas weakly set a hand on his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't be an idiot," Crowley chided. Cas looked up at him warily. "Yes, it's hers, but she was killing your girlfriend. Your hands are clean. Much as it pains me to say this, you're useless to me dead." He pushed Cas' hand away and held the grace up for him.

Cas' lips parted in acceptance. The silver-white grace spiraled from inside the vial to Cas, eager to be bonded with an angel. As soon as it vanished from sight, Crowley drew back, knowing the consequences of touching an angel with new grace.

A warm glow lit up his chest, radiating upwards and outwards and engulfing him in white light. When the light faded, Castiel's injuries were gone, and a faint blue glow illuminated his irises. Hannah watched the process with great relief.

"You owe me," Crowley told him.

Castiel staggered to his feet. Beneath the openly suspicious, even downright hostile look he gave Crowley, the demon knew he felt some sort of gratitude; whether he chose to show it or not was none of Crowley's concern.

"Why did you help me?" Cas demanded.

"Purely business," Crowley replied. He wanted nothing more than to see Cas fix Dean Winchester, even if that meant helping him out once in a while. He didn't tell the angel this, but he didn't outright lie either. "Since you're five miles away from the Winchesters' clubhouse, I can only surmise that you're headed there. That Dean has become... a handful. Having him as a demon has caused me _nothing_ but grief. Fix the problem."

"You realize—worse comes to to worst, that means killing him." Cas regarded him with something like sympathy.

Ah. Seemed the Seraph wasn't as dull as previously assumed. Only now did Crowley tell a blatant lie.

"I'm not sentimental," he said. He took a few steps back, knowing that the only reason Cas wasn't prying into it more was because he, too, had his fair share of affections for the eldest Winchester.

And with that, he left the two angels alone so he could drown his bloody emotions with whiskey in private.

* * *

"Sammy?"

Sam had no regards for noise at this point. He was blind with panic, his mind spinning and every limb shaking like a tree in a gale. The only time he'd felt like this before was when his hallucinations of Lucifer chased him down a dark alleyway.

He mentally kicked himself for having the audacity to compare Dean and Lucifer.

"Come on, Sammy!" Dean shouted. "Let's have a beer. Talk about it. I'm tired of playin'." His voice took on a dark tone. "Let's finish this game."

Breathing shallowly, Sam leaned around a corner. Relief soothed his rattled nerves, if only for a moment. He turned around.

Dean's hammer buried itself in the wall with a violent _crash!,_ right where Sam's head just was. Sam flung up the demon knife and pressed it against Dean's neck, eyes blown wide with pure terror.

That—Dean—

 _Dean aimed to kill._

Only then did the true reality of the situation hit Sam. The Mark always drove its bearers to some form of fratricide. He should have been expecting it, but for some reason, he'd denied the idea that Dean would actually want him dead until this moment. Dean stared at him, lip curled into a snarl.

Even telling himself _'this isn't Dean'_ over and over couldn't change the look in Dean's dark, shadowed eyes.

 _Hatred_.

Dean wanted him _dead._

"Well..." Dean released the hammer. Sam was horrified to see it was securely wedged into the plaster. "... look at you." Dean settled his chin against the serrated edge. "Do it. It's all you."

Sam's breathing turned to ragged gasping. He couldn't. He couldn't do it, no matter the venom in Dean's words or the sadistic gleam in his eyes, Sam couldn't kill Dean.

He lowered the knife.

Dean's lips tugged into a wry grin, as if he'd expected this. Inky blackness drowned out the green in his irises, and he went to attack Sam, but strong arms clothed in a tan trenchcoat wrapped around him and restricted his movement.

Castiel held him still, gritting his teeth. Angelic power flooded his natural strength, lighting up his eyes with blue. "It's over. Dean, it's over."

Struggling against his grip, Dean growled viciously, panting harshly as a shout of fury ripped free from his chest, filling the bunker with the hoarse, animalistic shrieks of a demon eager to finish off his brother.

" _It's over._ "

* * *

Sam withdrew the last injection from an unconscious Dean's arm. As he tucked the supplies away, he said quietly, "what the hell are we doing to him, Cas? I mean, even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn't want to be cured. That he didn't want to be human."

Cas' deep blue eyes glittered with the solemn grief of someone who understood. "I see his point. You know, only humans can feel real joy, but... also such profound pain. This is easier."

Despite the topic of conversation being Dean, Sam couldn't help but glance over at Cas sadly. He'd had such a rough time with things recently. Sam would talk to him later, after things had time to sink in.

Eyes still closed, Dean twitched. His head jerked to the side. A soft grunt escaped him. Slowly, he raised his head, eyes fluttering open to reveal they were still black.

But, as they watched, the darkness shrank and coiled in on itself until only his gentle, summer green irises were left. Dean blinked blearily, as if seeing clearly for the first time. He exhaled sharply, then looked up at them, eyebrows pinched in confusion.

"You look worried, fellas," Dean managed. Sam and Cas exchanged a look. Sam picked up a flask and splashed Dean's face with holy water. Dean flinched, but his skin didn't burn or hiss upon contact.

Relief nearly overwhelmed Sam. A hesitant, honest smile tugged at his lips. Even Cas' forehead smoothed out, the desperation fading from his expression. The worry in his eyes, however, remained.

"Welcome back, Dean," Sam said.

* * *

Cas picked up one of the many books strewn across the table, all about demons and curing demons. He felt like Sam had gotten obsessed in Dean's absence, which obviously wasn't healthy, but he didn't want to put a damper on things so soon. Instead, he just flipped through the pages, scanning them with slight disinterest.

"Hey," Sam said, coming to a stop beside him.

"How's he doing?" Cas asked.

"He's, uh... he's still a little out of it," Sam admitted. "But better, I think. I mean, I think this whole thing—the blood cure, and the—all of it, really wrecked him, you know?"

"Yeah."

"On the plus side, he's hungry again, so I'm just gonna go pick him up a big ol' bag of crap food and stuff it in his face myself." Sam smiled a bit, but Cas could tell even that simple expression was strained and exhausted. "You mind keeping an eye?"

Cas nodded. "Yeah." He sighed. "Sam."

"Yeah?"

"You realize—one problem is solved, but one still remains," Cas said. "Dean is no longer a demon. That's true. But the Mark of Cain—that, he still has, and sooner or later that's gonna be an issue."

"You know what, Cas? I'm beat, man."

Cas didn't doubt it.

"One battle at a time, you know? So I'm just gonna go grab my brother some cholesterol." Before Sam walked off, he added, "and then I'm gonna get drunk."

Cas didn't doubt that either.

When Castiel had stopped Dean from killing Sam, the younger Winchester was shaking like a leaf, his whole body tense and his expression twisted with fear. Sam was genuinely terrified of dying at Dean's hands. Cas had never seen Sam that scared, in all his years of knowing the brothers and their various hardships.

Perhaps more than anything else in the world, Sam was not scared of archangels, of the Devil, of his past, or of his brother. He was not scared of dying, not scared of sacrifices.

But Sam was scared, _terrified_ of failing Dean. And if he died because he couldn't cure Dean, then he was failing his brother. _That_ was what scared him; not the idea of death.

It filled Cas with rage to know that Dean let himself get to that point. He could blame the Mark all he wanted, but it was Dean's choices that led them here, and Cas hated him for it.

And Cas also loved him.

You could see the position he was in.

* * *

One of Dean's photos was missing.

As he combed through the stack he always kept by his bed, he noticed that he couldn't find the one with him and Sam at Bobby's house, laughing at someone beyond the camera. He loved that photo.

And he couldn't find it.

He knew, rationally, that Sam had probably taken it for himself, but he couldn't help but assume he was also missing a memory from being a demon where he'd ripped up the photo. It would make sense.

 _Knock knock knock._

Dean quickly tucked his pictures away. "Yeah?"

The door opened to reveal Castiel. Dean tried to hide his surprise.

"You look terrible," Cas told him bluntly.

Classic Castiel. Dean chuckled. "You know, it wouldn't kill ya to lie every now and again."

"No, it wouldn't kill me. I just... you—"

"Forget it," Dean interrupted. Cas fell silent. "Well, you, on the other hand, you... looking good. So, are you back?"

"At least temporarily," Cas replied. "Yeah, it's a long story—Crowley, stolen grace. There's a female outside in the car."

Dean blinked.

"Another time," Cas dismissed.

"Well, thank you for, um, stepping when you did," Dean said, trying and failing to not stumble over his words. Deep shame welled up in his chest when he thought about his crazed hunt through the bunker for Sam. "What does Sam say? Does he want a divorce?" He turned away.

"I'm sure Sam knows that whatever you said or what you did—that wasn't really you. It certainly wasn't _all_ you."

Oh, Castiel. Always quick to comfort where it isn't welcome, always eager to forgive where it isn't deserved.

"I tried to kill him, Cas," Dean muttered.

"Dean, you two have been through so much," Cas said, his voice softening. "Look, you're brothers. It'd take a lot more than trying to kill Sam with a hammer to make him walk away."

"You realize how screwed up our lives are that that even makes sense?"

Cas chuckled.

"I'm glad you're here, man," Dean told him honestly.

Bowing his head in acknowledgement, Cas turned to leave, but paused. "Hey, maybe you should, um... take some time before you get back to work—allow yourself to heal. It's, uh... I don't know. Timing might be right. Heaven and Hell—they seem to be reasonably back in order. It's quiet out there." He closed the door gently behind him.

Cas was trying so hard to help, but the only thing Dean gleaned from it was that Cas believed he was too volatile to go back to hunting right away. He was too dangerous.

Not that he wasn't absolutely correct. Dean closed his eyes. He'd consider it, at least.

Maybe he _did_ need a break.


	13. 11x18 - Hell's Angel

~ _An-Nafud Desert, Saudi Arabia_ ~

Darkness shrouded the land. Great rolling hills and jagged rocks protruded from the otherwise flat desert. Tall, wavering torches dotted the area around a campsite, where men talked quietly in Arabic. One had just taken a seat when a strange gust of wind swept through their tent, dousing the torches outside. Their interior lanterns flickered.

Then, standing before them were there was once thin air, was a man. Crowley tucked his hands into his pockets.

He spoke in Arabic, " _where is he?_ "

One man rose to his feet and pulled aside a curtain, revealing their companion lying, sickly, in bed. Crowley stepped inside, pausing a few feet away.

"Noel," he greeted. "I came when you asked." He raised an eyebrow. "You're looking a trifle peaky."

Noel breathed a chuckle.

"Do you truly have it?" Crowley asked.

Nodding slightly, Noel said, "and it's yours... if you hold up your end of the bargain."

Crowley slipped a hand into his coat and pulled out a thin scroll. At the sight of it, Noel pushed himself into a sitting position, sighing.

"I've had a good life," Noel told him. "Thanks to you. Very few of the world's secrets I haven't cracked. It seemed worth a soul... at the time."

"Oh. It always does."

"Destroy that thing," Noel said.

"Show me the object first," Crowley countered.

Noel nodded to the man standing by the door. He opened up a crate while Noel stared hard at Crowley.

" _A shofar_ ," Noel said. "The Horn of Joshua, touched by the Hand of God."

The man brought out something wrapped in cloth. Crowley unwrapped one side to look at it, then held out a hand to touch it.

"Easy," Noel warned. Crowley halted. "Easy there."

"It's authentic," Crowley observed. "I can feel it." He withdrew his hand, allowing the other man to re-wrap it. He turned back to Noel.

"Now tear that thing up," Noel said, an edge to his tone. Crowley raised an eyebrow, but snapped the scroll in half. Noel let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I don't think I have long."

"How very prescient of you," Crowley said. He twisted his hand, and Noel's neck snapped to the side with an audible _crunch_. The man standing by the door turned and fled. Crowley gazed down at the corpse for less than second before grabbing the Horn of Joshua and tugging the tent flap aside. The sight that greeted him was not unexpected, but just plain annoying.

Noel's guards were all pointing their guns at him, muttering in Arabic. Sighing, Crowley lifted his arms, as if to surrender. He began to turn one hand, ever so slowly, and with it, the guards' weapons trembled and dipped, turning unbidden until they were all aiming for one another. They started crying out in their native tongue, mostly exclamations and prayers. Crowley almost felt flattered when one of them called him the Devil.

He lowered his finger.

The guns went off at the same time, lighting up the tent with bright flashes of gunfire. Each man let out a shout and toppled over, dead.

Silence.

"Amateurs," Crowley murmured.

* * *

~ _America_ ~

"Are you not hearing me?" Crowley snapped over the phone. He stormed through the rain irritably, soaked to the bone. "I said I have in my possession the solution to our collective problems. You should be doing a jig."

" _I don't jig,_ " Dean replied. " _Now, how do I know you even escaped Lucifer and he's not making you say all this?_ "

"Honestly, your cynicism is depressing," Crowley told him. He jogged to an awning where he was sheltered from the downpour. He leaned against a pillar. "Why would Lucifer force me to discuss the very means of his destruction?"

" _What are you talking about?_ "

"A weapon—one than channels divinity." He glanced around the corner, nervous of being overheard. He could feel the pull of several souls, none of the bright kind. Were those person's eyes black or was he seeing things? "Yes, powerful enough to help destroy a force like the Darkness. Or Lucifer." He vanished and reappeared higher up. A better vantage point from here. "Tell me you haven't been searching for such a thing."

" _A Hand of God?_ " Dean guessed. " _Of course we have._ "

"Thought as much. St. Louis. The old post office on Beekman."

" _Crowley._ "

Crowley hung up.

Down in the bunker, Dean groaned. He tipped his head back and shouted, "Sam!"

* * *

~ _An abandoned factory_ ~

"How do I know that any of this is working?" Amara demanded weakly. She was lying down on her stomach, feeling quite vulnerable under the firm hands of the witch. "I don't feel any different, for all of your promises. I warn you, I'm not one to be trifled with."

"Shh." Rowena MacLeod picked up her chanting before Amara could speak again. " _Mahday, eelohtah sahn. Serloh, eelohtah._ " A faint red glow pulsed beneath Amara's ribcage. "That's enough for now, poor wee thing. But you're coming along. I'll heal you, just as I promised."

Amara rose to her feet. The warehouse was full of bright, flickering fire to help them stay warm, but it did nothing to keep the encroaching darkness at bay. Amara didn't mind that.

"And who are you again?" Amara asked.

"One who communes with the natural forces and channels them to help the less fortunate," Rowena answered her smoothly. "Such as yourself."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm."

"You're his mother," Amara said after a moment.

Rowena's expression was unreadable in the dim lighting. "Say what, dear?"

"Uncle Crowley's mother," Amara clarified.

"Uncle?"

"He tried controlling me when I was a child," Amara said. Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Did he send you to bring me back?"

"Heavens, no," Rowena assured her quickly, holding out her hands. "My son and I loathe each other."

"Then why are you helping me?"

"Because you're going to win, my dear. Yes, I know about the grievance between you and your brother and his archangel—I have my own ax to grind with Lucifer." Rowena said the name 'Lucifer' with such contempt, Amara could imagine venom dripping from her words.

"You know him?" Amara asked.

"Know him?" Rowena chuckled mirthlessly.

She glanced to the side for a moment, and a memory flashed in her mind, so vivid and painful that Amara was able to see it. Lucifer, taking Rowena's chin with icy fingers, a smile curving his lips, then a terrible _crack_ as he snapped her neck.

"And yet, you live," Amara said, tilting her head.

"Aye. Like yourself, I'm a survivor. A hard life has taught me to be prepared." Rowena pushed her dress to the side, showing off her legs. "I, long ago, secreted within my person a wee casket of powerful magic."

Another memory, this time of Lucifer walking away with Crowley, and swirling purple magic humming beneath her skin, breathing life into her once more.

"When the spell inside me sensed my life force ebbing," Rowena explained, "it went to work. And I was revived."

"Where is Lucifer now?" Amara asked. She knew her nephew was not easily found, but Rowena seemed to have proven herself a capable sorceress. Feeling suddenly fatigued, she stumbled and took a seat. "He's hidden himself from me, and I, too, have a score to settle."

"All in good time. Right now, you're still weak from that pesky angel smiting."

Amara took in a deep breath. "And you can fix that?"

"Aye, and so much more," Rowena replied. "You can destroy your enemies and, I imagine, remake the world any way you choose. And I... will be by your side."

* * *

~ _The old post office on Beekman_ ~

The Winchesters ducked into the location Crowley had given them. Dean grimaced and shoved aside cobwebs, while Sam shook his head free of the woven strings as they descended into the darkness. Eventually, they emerged in a partially-open space with one dim light bulb on the ceiling. Crowley stood, waiting for them.

"Nice digs," Dean commented. "The Crypt Keeper out of town?"

"I'm lucky to be alive," Crowley said. "Lucifer had me trussed up like a _dog_ in my own palace."

"'Palace'?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean the abandoned nuthouse."

"He kept me in a _kennel_!" Crowley hissed. When Sam dissolved into quiet chuckles, he continued indignantly, "and, he turned all his demons— _my_ demons—against me. They scour the earth, day and night, looking to kill me. He has to be dealt with."

"So, is this why you brought us here?" Dean questioned. "Some lousy grudge match with Lucifer?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Where's this, uh, Hand of God you were talking about?"

"I'm getting to that," Crowley said. "Your only hope of subduing Amara is to match the level of power that she possesses."

"No kidding," Dean said. "And?"

"And, I have the Horn of Joshua."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Joshua. As in the Joshua that won the battle of Jericho?"

"And I'm willing to entrust it to your capable hands." When the Winchesters both stared at Crowley knowingly, he asked, "what? I just said I'd give you the thing."

Simultaneously, the brothers said, "if?"

"Is this how you say 'thank you'?" Crowley muttered. "You think these things grow on bloody _trees_?!"

"Cut the crap, Crowley," Dean said. "With you, there's always an 'if'."

"Fine," Crowley relented. "I will give you the Horn, _if_ you help me exorcise Lucifer from Castiel's vessel and then return him immediately to the Cage."

"Oh, that's all, huh?" Sam said.

"Okay," Dean said. "And where is this Horn?"

"Safely hidden, naturally," Crowley replied.

"Crowley, even if we _could_ exorcise Lucifer out of Cas, the Cage is damn near impenetrable," Sam said. "It took a spell from the Book of the Damned to spring Lucifer, and Rowena hid the book."

"And we would need both the book _and_ her to even have a shot," Dean added.

Crowley blinked. "Did I say this would be easy? No. I did not."

"Do you even know where Rowena is?" Sam asked.

"Rotting somewhere, I assume," Crowley said, biting his lip. "Lucifer snapped her neck."

The brothers exchanged a look.

Dean shook his head. "Hold on, okay? Let's just put it in reverse. We will put Lucifer back in the Cage _after_ we put Amara back on ice. It has to happen in that order, otherwise there is no Lucifer, there's no Cage, there's no nothing."

"He's spent years marinating in hate _against_ us!" Crowley cried. "He has to go."

"Problem is..." Sam started. He crossed his arms. "... we may need him."

"He's been down this road with Amara before," Dean continued, picking up the explanation after Sam. "He might be the only one powerful enough to use the Horn against her."

"He had me cleaning the floors with my tongue," Crowley hissed. "He called me 'puppy'! He made me _beg_!"

Dean clapped his hands a few times, drawing Crowley's quickly drifting attention to himself. "Alright, come on. Is this what this is about, huh? Your stupid ego? The fact that he dissed you in front of a bunch of stupid demons? You're smarter than this. Come on."

"Dean's right," Sam said. "Priority is to put the Horn in Lucifer's hands and set him loose on Amara-"

"-after we exorcise Lucifer out of Cas and put him into a new vessel," Dean finished.

"What?" Sam said, eyebrows furrowed. "Really?"

Dean glanced back at him. "Yes, really. We're not gonna send Lucifer into battle inside Cas. What if he doesn't make it?"

"Dean, it's a strong vessel," Sam countered, "it's held Cas for years, and we know what he's been through. I'm guessing it can hold Lucifer."

"'It'?" Dean questioned. "It's not an 'it', Sam. It's _Cas_."

"And Cas _wanted_ to do this."

"Yeah, well, there's times I want to get slapped during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask," Dean snapped. Crowley raised an eyebrow. "That don't make it a good idea."

"Dean, this is exactly how we screw ourselves. W-We make the heart choice instead of the smart choice."

"Oh, okay. Thank you, Dr. Phil," Dean muttered. "Cas is family."

"Yes, and his choice deserves to be respected," Sam replied.

"Even if it kills him?"

"It's killing me," Crowley piped up. "I would rather stick white-hot skewers in my eyes than listen to you two bitches bicker! I gave you the terms of my deal. If Lucifer's not back in the Cage, the Horn stays hidden."

"You know, this is a dick move, Crowley," said Sam. "Even for you. You're not being reasonable."

"I don't have to be reasonable," Crowley snapped. "I'm the king."

The Winchesters both rolled their eyes.

* * *

~ _Heaven_ ~

Jofiel pressed a device to the door of some soul's Heaven, watching an array of colors light up in the metal. A beep and a whirr later, and he began to lower it, when a sudden flash in the corner of his eye made him look up.

Leaning against the wall, a patient smile on his lips, was Lucifer.

Sucking in a breath, Jofiel whispered, "Lucifer."

The Devil's eyes flicked over him. "Jofiel. How's it hangin'?"

Jofiel glanced backward. The hall was empty. He was alone. He reluctantly faced Lucifer, who pushed himself off the wall and held out a placating hand.

"Easy there," Lucifer soothed.

Although Lucifer's grace was blinding in its intensity, Jofiel could tell the vessel he wore once belonged to Castiel. Castiel's grace was there too, but dimmer, like it was almost... hiding, behind Lucifer.

"So perfect," Jofiel muttered. "Castiel, one of Heaven's most wanted, possessed by Heaven's most hated."

"I come in peace," Lucifer assured him. "I just wanna be a part of the action again. I wanna lend a hand."

Gritting his teeth, Jofiel whirled around and called out, "brothers-!"

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Jofiel exploded into dust. Sighing, Lucifer waved away the ashes. Pity.

Later...

Now in one of Heaven's numerous conference rooms, Lucifer stood before a group of high-ranking angels, all leaders of their garrisons. They watched him in varying degrees of fear, stiff in their seats.

"Okay, guys," Lucifer started off, rubbing his chin. "So, trying to smite the Darkness was a bust, huh?" He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, causing the closest angels to flinch. Casting sympathetic glances side to side, he continued, "you had all the power of Heaven behind you. Couldn't even slow the bitch down. Well. No need to feel like abject losers. You learned a valuable lesson here. You need me."

There was a long stretch of pensive silence. The angels averted their eyes nervously.

Lucifer sighed. "Alright. Not giddy with awe."

"You..." one angel, Afriel, trailed off, swallowing. "... exploded Jofiel."

"Or did Jofiel explode himself?" Lucifer suggested, arching an eyebrow. He shrugged at their expressions. "Just sayin'."

"God cast you out of Heaven," said another angel, named Sariel.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and turned to face Sariel. "And who do you think spread _that_ tabloid headline?" Drawing uncomfortable close, he sat down on the other angel's lap, forcing Sariel to look him in the eyes. "It was Captain G. The Eternal One. And why?" For each word, he bumped foreheads with Sariel. "Because I didn't buy into his obsessive"-bump-"compulsive-"-bump-"love for mankind."

"Mankind is His creation," Afriel said.

"Oh, come on!" Lucifer exclaimed, shoving himself away from Sariel. "It's not like He invented the Prius, which actually works. I don't have to tell you people what a mess mankind is. The Salem Witch Trials..." Gripping a nearby angel's shirt collar, he yanked once. "... Third Reich..." He clicked his heel against the floor and stuck an arm out. "... Twin Towers. And sure, every once in awhile, He'll send down a little plague to straighten 'em out, but it's nothing permanent." Lucifer's tone dripped hatred and indignation. "Humanity brought us Hiroshima and got a _redo_. I merely questioned His priorities, and I got the boot."

"He said you're evil," Sariel spoke up.

Lucifer's stare snapped to the angel. His brothers glanced back at Sariel, eyes wide with worry. Lucifer's lips tightened into a thin line.

"Incarnate," Afriel added, hoping to draw attention away from his brother. "E-Evil incarnate."

Instead of turning them both into ashes, as everyone expected, Lucifer cracked a dangerous smile and only said, "it's marketing. He's creating a need in the consumer's mind." He shrugged a bit. "Can't be a super savior if you don't have a super villain."

"So, what are you offering?" an angel—her name being Hadraniel—near the wall asked.

"Well, a way out of this pickle," Lucifer answered.

"By 'pickle' you mean the Darkness," Sariel said.

Lucifer nodded.

"You can reason with her?" Hadraniel asked hopefully.

"Well..." Lucifer stuck his hands in his pockets. He had to give Castiel kudos—the trenchcoat was cozy. "I doubt that. But I _can_ lock her away. This time for good. Done it before."

The angels exchanged confused looks with one another.

"Oh, Pops didn't tell you that, huh?"

"Once you've... gotten rid of her," Afriel said hesitantly, "you'll want... to... stay around?"

"Oh, I like the way you think." He clapped his hands. The sharp sound echoed around the room. "Man, am I jazzed! Hey. If it makes ya comfy..." The smile that Lucifer gave the angels was utterly devilish. "... could call _me_ God."

* * *

~ _The abandoned factory_ ~

Rowena's hands, hovering just above Amara's skin, roamed up and down the length of her body, humming with power.

"The vessel is healing nicely," Rowena told her. She grinned. "Soon, you'll be shipshape Bristol fashion."

"You seem pleased with my progress," Amara noticed. "But I don't sense in you the capacity for kindness or... concern."

"Kindness gets you a hug," Rowena muttered, shuddering in disgust. "Not a seat at the big boys' table."

"And what is it you want?"

"Oh, like yourself," Rowena replied. "I want revenge on Lucifer. But more than that, I want to be there when you remake the universe to your taste."

"Oh?" Amara turned around to look at her. "I'm told my tastes run towards the catastrophic."

"Aye," Rowena said happily, thinking she was making a joke. "The Winchesters say you are all about destruction."

"The Winchesters are right."

The smile faded from Rowena's face. Yes, she could revel in good-natured destruction, but utter catastrophe? She didn't want to see the world gone. Only changed. She fixed her attention on the table, swallowing.

"But," Amara continued, "what they call 'destruction', I call renovation. My blueprint. Not God's."

"That's my girl," Rowena said, forcing enthusiasm back into her tone. "Do things the way _you_ would have done them."

"I will." Amara paused. "And where do you fit into that?"

"Oh, I can be useful," Rowena told her, eager to please. "Provide you with information on the troublesome brothers and Lucifer—their plans. And even if it _is_ born out of my own self-interest, I-I care about you."

At Amara's incredulous expression, Rowena found there was no way to back out of the conversation and barreled on. Better inject some sympathy into her tone, too, lest Amara become suspicious.

"I'm someone you can talk with. Confide in. Have you—have you ever had that?"

Amara slowly shook her head. "I've always been alone."

"Oh, you don't have to be, darlin'!" Rowena insisted. She reached out, but stopped herself just shy of touching Amara's face. She was making so many terrible decisions in such a short conversation. With a pathetic attempt at salvaging her pride, she raised her hand to her forehead instead, brushing aside her bangs.

Rising to her feet, Amara said, "well... whatever you're doing, it seems to be working. Maybe I should try a little test."

* * *

~ _Heaven_ ~

"Thank you," Lucifer said, touching an angel's shoulder as she walked by. He knew he made them uncomfortable with his nearness, which was exactly why he tried to make physical contact with his siblings as much as possible.

The angels were now returning to their garrisons to consider his offer, although he assumed they would each make the right choice. None of them wanted to be turned to dust, right? It's just survival instincts.

When Hadraniel passed by, he called after her, "Hey, I like your spunk. There's always room for a go-getter in my organization."

Afriel tried to hurry past him, but Lucifer grabbed his arm and pulled him backwards into the room.

"Hey, I know I can count on you," Lucifer said with a smile, snaking an arm around Afriel's shoulders. The angel was shaking violently beneath his firm grip, his breathing coming in uneven gasps. "But what about your people? They on board, or we need to do a little wing-twisting?"

"I-I'll have to think about it," Afriel managed. He forced an obviously fake smile.

Lucifer clapped his shoulder and released him. "Don't you think about it too long."

Afriel looked like he wanted to bolt, but he only walked unsteadily away. Lucifer could see his fingers visibly trembling.

"You know what they say," Lucifer called after him. Better have fun while it lasts. "He who hesitates—" he snapped his fingers, his smile fading, "—disintegrates!" When the next angel walked by, Lucifer grabbed his shoulder. "You look great. You been working out?"

Down on Earth, Amara held out her arms in a flourish and tipped her head to the sky. " **HEAR ME**!" she shouted, her True Voice mixing and resonating with her mortal one. Darkness stirred at her feet and sucked inward, a vortex of power that exploded out from her hands and rattled the whole building with concussive force.

Halfway behind a pillar, Rowena could feel the raw energy thrumming within her, and terror struck at her very core.

She'd made a terrible mistake.

Back up in Heaven, a great rumbling filled the halls. The lights flickered, occasionally plunging everyone into darkness. Lucifer paused and looked to the ceiling, where the lights crackled with strange power.

Afriel stopped in his tracks. He stared ahead, eyes wide with shock.

At the very end of the hallway, darkness was consuming his path in a massive, writhing tornado of black smoke that rushed towards him at blinding speed, blowing out the lights as it went.

His body finally catching up to his brain, Afriel spun on his heel and took off.

Angels began sprinting around corners, heading for the conference room where groups of them were shouting and ducking past Lucifer into shelter. Lucifer stood in the doorway, watching the oncoming storm with a smile twisting his lips.

Lucifer threw up an arm to protect himself just as the darkness collided with him and knocked him to the floor, rushing into the room and down other hallways, filling the space with whirling black and vicious winds. Angels screamed in terror and shock. On the ground, Lucifer grinned widely, one hand shielding his face from the onslaught. He felt the familiar fury of his Aunt grab Heaven by its very foundations and shake it ferociously, her howls of vengeance the only noise in his ears.

Now _that's_ more like it.

On Earth, thunder crashed above. The Winchesters and Crowley looked upward, wearing identical frowns of confusion.

"What the hell was that?" Dean questioned.

The trio stepped outside to find the sky boiling over with black clouds, dark lightning streaking over the land, accompanied with massive booms of sound.

"You know what, fellas?" Dean said, watching the spectacular display. "I think that's her."

* * *

~ _Heaven_ ~

Angels groaned and muttered amongst themselves. The darkness had cleared, leaving Heaven in a state of disarray. White tables and chairs were strewn about, knocked over by the sudden attack. Angels staggered to their feet, helping each other up and righting the fallen furniture.

Lucifer was already standing, looking ruffled and a bit surprised but unharmed. "Well, that," he said, dusting himself off, "was a little payback, ladies and gents. I don't think Auntie Amara appreciated your little half-assed smiting. And, uh—" he clicked his tongue, "—guess what? This—This is just a teeny taste of what's to come. So clearly, my expertise _is_ gonna come in handy. Cause God knows what's next."

The angels stared at him. He winced theatrically.

"Ouch. I almost forgot. Um..." He made a face. "God doesn't care."

* * *

~ _The post office on Beekman again_ ~

"Okay." Sam waved his hands as they stepped back inside the post office. "S-So now we all just saw what happens when she's in a bad mood, which, apparently, she's been in since the dawn of time."

"I think she just rattled Heaven with a flick of her pinkie finger," Dean said to Crowley. "That's not a big enough dose of reality for you?"

Back in the abandoned factory, Rowena tilted her head upwards. She found herself looking, not at the ceiling, but at the Winchester brothers and Crowley. They were arguing.

"Why are we arguing?" Crowley questioned. "We all know that he has to go back in the Cage."

"Yes, when it makes sense," Dean countered. "Amara's the big picture here now, okay? Look, in order to take her out, Lucifer has got to have the Horn of Joshua. He does her, we do him. Check, please."

Rowena's astral form snapped back into her body. She took in a shaky breath.

"Well?" Amara asked. "What are the Winchesters preparing to do?"

"Mm, nothing," Rowena lied. She closed her eyes, pretending she was just dizzy from astral projecting. "Paralyzed with fear. They don't know what to do." She opened her eyes and held Amara's gaze for as long as possible, hoping she looked convincing.

Amara didn't smile, but she didn't turn Rowena to dust either. "You're right. You're actually handy to have around." Then, as if Rowena were an obedient dog, she patted her cheek.

"Thanks," Rowena whispered. "Lovely of you to say."

Still standing around in the post office, Dean said, "Crowley, ticktock. You with us?"

"The crux of your dispute is your contention that Lucifer—and only Lucifer—can use the Horn to beat Amara, right?"

"You got it."

"Well, that scenario only works if you actually possess said Horn, which you do not." Crowley lifted his chin in utter defiance.

"No, we do not," Sam snapped. "But you _do_ , so—"

"Exactly! _I_ do!" Crowley replied. "This isn't a negotiation. I have the high cards, and you have—hold on." His tone quickly turned downright insulting. "Give me a second. Let me have a look—no cards!" He clenched his jaw. "My offer stands."

"When we sprung Lucifer from the Cage," Dean started, "we had Rowena and the Book of the Damned. Both of which we will need to put him back in the Cage. Both of which are gone."

As Sam watched them argue, he noticed a rusty cabinet nearby begin to light up strangely. Almost as if words were being burned into it.

"Guys," Sam said.

"Back to you," Dean growled.

"Guys," Sam repeated. "Look at this." He pointed to the cabinet.

The burned words faded until they were legible.

 _BACK FROM THE DEAD, FERGUS!_

* * *

~ _An abandoned church_ ~

Dean finished up spraying a Devil's Trap on the floor, shaking the can a few times. Across the room, Sam set down a wooden cross. They put a few more things in position—laying the table sideways, shifting some furniture around, lighting some candles.

Off to the side, Rowena stood at a desk, several items laid out in front of her. She gave them a dainty wave and smiled. Sam smiled back, then turned to Dean and said, "I hate this."

"Yeah."

"By the way, where the hell is Crowley?" Sam asked. "I mean, we're essentially all set up."

"Yeah, he's the one that boxed us into doing this," Dean agreed. "You'd think he'd have the decency to—"

"—show up?" Crowley finished. He had appeared near the windows, holding the wrapped-up Horn of Joshua in his hands. As he walked over to them, he carefully skirted the red lines on the floor. "He does. Because, without the bait, well... a trap really isn't a trap, is it?"

"That's it?" Sam said, eyeing the Horn. "Doesn't look like much, does it?"

"First impressions can be deceiving, moose," Crowley replied. "For instance, I once thought of you as dull and plodding."

Sam frowned.

"Ah. Never mind." Crowley waved him off. "Bad analogy."

"For the record, we still think this is a bad idea," Dean piped up. "We should be _using_ Lucifer, not _icing_ him."

"I'm aware," Crowley said. "So I'll be standing right here, should you hesitate. The hand that giveth can so quickly taketh away."

"Yes, we getteth it," Dean muttered.

Crowley turned his attention to Rowena. "So, mummy, you were telling us your fascinating tale of resurrection. But you never did say exactly where you'd been this whole time."

"Same as you, Fergus," Rowena replied. She spat out the name 'Fergus' like it left a bad taste in her mouth. "Hiding. Once the Dark Prince knew I was alive, I wouldn't be."

"No mucking about like last time," Crowley warned, then glanced back to the Winchesters. "The warding and the holy fire won't keep an archangel but for a moment. If he shows up at all."

"Oh, he'll show," Dean said. "He's too hungry to take Amara out, and we've got the blaster to do it." He lit a match and dropped it into a bowl, sending a plume of fire shooting upwards, then slowly dying down to a manageable size. Next, he unfurled a piece of parchment. " _In nomine magni dei nostri Satanas, introibo ad altare Domini Inferi._ I summon you to make an offer. The weapon by which its bearer can crush the Darkness forever."

Thunder crashed. Everyone jolted. Lightning illuminated the stained glass windows, casting wavering colors and patterns on the floor. Rowena promptly bolted behind the corner to hide.

Lightning struck again, and with it came Lucifer.

He appeared in the center of the Devil's Trap, facing away from them. Before he could turn around, Dean shouted, "Sam, now!"

Sam struck a match and tossed it to the ground, right on the line of holy oil. Fire sprung up from the spot it landed, then raced down the rest of the line until there was a circle of holy fire separating them from the Devil.

Lucifer slowly turned around, arms crossed over his chest. He regarded them the way one might a bug—with interest, a hint of disgust. Castiel's deep blue eyes, so gentle and warm before, were now ice cold. The flames made dark shadows dance in his irises.

"I'm sorry," Lucifer said, tilting his head. "Your prayer implied that I'd be joining the team, but I'm just not feeling the warm and fuzzy here."

When no one replied, even sarcastically, to his comment, he frowned a bit, his gaze jumping from Sam to Dean. Then, his attention was drawn to an item on a bench, wrapped up in cloth yet practically vibrating with divinity.

"Wow. There it is. Powered up by Dad Himself. Well, that bad boy, plus me—that oughta take her out alright," he said. And still, strangely, everyone remained quiet. He clapped his hands together. "Let's get to it. Douse the flames." Silence. He frowned and snapped his fingers, watching the Winchesters' shifting expressions. "... or don't?"

Dean sliced his palm and slapped an intricate hidden from view.

The ground beneath Lucifer's feet suddenly lit up with a large, burning sigil. His face contorted, and he began to shudder, his vessel twitching and shaking as the magic went to work.

"Cas!" Dean called. "Castiel, show yourself!"

Lucifer's expression cleared. Breathing heavily, he blinked a few times, as if struggling to focus on his surroundings. A low ringing filled the air. Then, he managed, "Dean?"

His voice, so low and gravelly and familiar, was the only evidence Dean needed. He rushed over, as close as he could to the fire.

"Cas."

"What are you doing?" Cas asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What's—What's going on?"

"Cas, listen to me," Dean urged. "We don't have a whole lot of time, okay? You've got to—"

Cas coughed and doubled over. He blinked rapidly, the ringing noise intensifying. His whole body shook with whatever internal conflict he was having with Lucifer.

"Cas?" Dean stepped closer to the fire. "Castiel, show yourself!"

His cries of pain morphed into low chuckling as Lucifer regained control. Lucifer wheezed a laugh, his lips curved into something that resembled a snarl more than a smile. The ringing noise cut off.

"Oh!" Lucifer exclaimed, shoulders heaving with exertion. "Whoo!" He cleared his throat. "He's, uh, he's got to what?" Letting out a huff, he straightened to his full height, using every inch of Castiel's tall build. "You boys—ooh, you almost had me there for a minute, but these mail-order spells, they're just not what they're cracked up to be, are they?"

"Cas, expel him!" Dean ordered. "You gotta kick Lucifer out, do you hear me?!"

"Honestly," Lucifer said, "I think he's happy with the arrangement." He took a step forward, the sigil at his feet sizzling. "I mean, he _did_ invite me in and all, Dean."

"Cas!" Dean yelled.

"Cas!" Lucifer yelled back mockingly. His jesting smile vanished. "Hand over the weapon. What do you say? Or we can just wait for this warding to fail and I'll _take_ it."

The sigil fizzled out of existence. Crowley backed up, ready to disappear with the Horn of Joshua if necessary. Rowena closed her eyes and pressed herself against the wall.

"Bloody hell," Crowley muttered. He dropped into a chair, tipped back his head, and opened his mouth. Red smoke poured out of his vessel and arced across the room, then slipped into Lucifer's vessel and vanished. Lucifer's eyes closed, his shoulders slumping. Everything went quiet.

 _In Castiel's mind..._

" _Is it going to be alright_?"

Crowley blinked at his new surroundings. From the looks of it... the Winchesters' bunker. Faint voices echoed from the room nearby.

" _It's going to be alright_!"

" _Oh, you bet! Dear friends, it is going to be alright_."

He stepped into the area. Across the space, seated at a chair, eyes fixed on a small TV, was Castiel. He reached up to the fiddle with the antenna.

"Castiel?" Crowley called.

"Oh, Crowley," Cas remarked, barely sparing him a glance. "What are you doing here?"

"Is this the Winchesters' kitchen?" Crowley asked.

"Sort of. I come here in my mind to pass the time. For some reason, it has excellent reception."

"What's wrong with you? What has Lucifer done to you?"

Castiel shrugged a little. "Well, he mostly just leaves me alone. I'm just waiting here, you know, for the battle with the Darkness."

"He's really got his hooks in you," Crowley muttered. "Snap out of it. Do you know what's happening out there? The Winchesters have trapped the abomination so that _you_ can expel him, so that _they_ can put him back in the Cage!"

"Well, that doesn't sound like a very good idea," Cas murmured. He rested his chin in his palm.

"In your current state, you're in no position to judge."

Frowning, Cas lowered his hand and looked up at Crowley. "Wait. That was Dean I saw a minute ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"And he wants me to expel Lucifer?"

"Yes!" Crowley snapped, barely containing his frustration.

Cas laughed. He resumed his former position, gazing lazily at the television screen. "Well... he may have a more objective view of the situation. Maybe I should."

"So let's do it now, before it's too late," Crowley urged.

"It already is."

Crowley stiffened.

In the doorway—his fingers laced together and lips quirked into a dangerous smile—was Lucifer.

Lucifer let out a long sigh. He was back in his first vessel, Nick, dressed in dad jeans and his eyes the color of arctic ice. He picked at the wooden frame, as if Crowley wasn't worth his full attention. "Really, Crowley? You want to put me back in the Cage?" He smirked. "Well, I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

Back in reality, Sam glanced back at Crowley's still vessel. "You know, he's been gone a long time," Sam said. "I mean, what do you think is going on?"

"I don't know," Dean replied. "Maybe Cas isn't willing to play ball. I mean, you said it yourself—he wanted this."

"Can't you people do anythin' right?!" Rowena shrieked, springing into view. "Whilst all this dithering goes on, we're losing time! Look—The warding's beginning to fail!"

Sure enough, the flames were dying down, and the sigils were already burnt out.

"Come on, Cas, what the hell?" Dean muttered.

 _Crash!_

Crowley collided with a cabinet, groaning. He barely had a moment to recover when Lucifer grabbed his shoulders and flung him across the room, sending him skidding over Castiel's table and rolling to the floor.

"You second-rate bean counter!" Lucifer hissed.

Cas adjusted his TV, rolling his eyes. "Guys, you're gonna break something."

Lucifer shoved him to his feet, where he stumbled, disoriented. "You wanted my throne—"

A glass went shattering over Crowley's head.

"You plotted to replace me!"

Plates and cutlery clanged as Lucifer dragged him across the counter and hurled him into a rack of pots and pans, creating a great cacophony of clattering and noise.

In the church, Sam suddenly frowned. A strange sizzling sound reached their ears. He turned to Crowley's vessel.

There, the words 'HELP ME' were burned into his forehead.

Dean grabbed a flask of holy water while Sam brandished a cross and began to chant an exorcism.

"As if _ambition_ ," Lucifer snarled, "and _posturing_ were the same as _majesty_!" He pinned Crowley to the wall and wrapped a hand around his throat, smile vicious. Crowley spluttered, clawing at Lucifer's iron grip. "Everyone in Hell despises you and sees you for what exactly what you are—"

Crowley choked and gasped.

"—nothing."

Then, suddenly—

 _...legio diabolica, adiuramus te. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas..._

Lucifer tilted his head, listening. Crowley could've sobbed with relief as Sam finished the exorcism and he was expelled from the vessel, fleeing back to his original body with desperation unparalleled.

"Crowley," Sam said.

"Useless," Crowley forced out. "Lucifer's hold on him is too strong."

"Lads, the fire!" Rowena cried.

The ring of holy fire flickered out of existence and with it, Rowena scrambled to hide behind the pillar once more.

Lucifer slowly opened his eyes. Where he was slightly annoyed before, he was downright furious now. He tipped his head from side to side, rolling his shoulders.

"Ah." He sighed, and when he spoke, he sounded almost genuinely disappointed. "Trick me? You lied to me. You know, I could've been your warrior." He waved his hand. "Ah, who needs ya?"

Sam spun on his heel and scrambled to grab the Horn of Joshua, but it launched itself from the ground and landed neatly in Lucifer's hand.

"Well," Crowley said. And then he was gone.

"It's just like Crowley to leave right when the party's getting started," Lucifer commented. "Have a seat."

The brothers were abruptly pushed into sitting positions by an invisible force. Lucifer took a few steps forward, admiring the Horn absently.

"As much as I get a giggle out of you two, and I do, there comes a time when every relationship has run its course. So..." Lucifer held out a hand and curled his fingers into a fist.

Sam and Dean choked as Lucifer cut off their air flow. He watched them strain for oxygen with a smirk, twisting his hand to incite another round of groans.

And then the windows behind him exploded.

The whole side of the church blew inwards with a deafening _boom!,_ showering the room with shards of glass and wood splinters. Lucifer frowned as he regarded the damage.

From the dust cloud emerged a tall, slim woman, her hair tumbling down in curls and her dress a solid black color. Her entire being hummed with power, her darkness threatening to overwhelm them at any moment. Lucifer knew it well.

The look Amara gave him was utterly terrifying, but he stood his ground.

"Oh, Lucifer," Amara mused. She sneered down at him. "Dear nephew... my, how you've changed."

Lucifer resisted the very strong urge to say something about inheriting it from her.

"I was tracking her when she left my side," Amara continued, fixing her eyes on Rowena.

"You were safely sealed away," Lucifer said. He cracked a grin. "You're gonna wish you'd stayed there."

In his hands, the Horn of Joshua lit up with a bright yellow glow. The color sank into his skin and spread through his body, filling him with divine grace and turning his eyes a piercing white. He extended his palm, and white power exploded from his fingertips, slamming into Amara's chest and stirring up gale-force winds around the church. He poured his own grace into it, adding to the blast. Inside him, Castiel did the same. They watched the brilliant golden light envelop Amara, drowning out her Darkness with Light.

The Horn's glow faded. Lucifer felt the warmth of his Father's light drain out of him.

Amara was still standing. And she looked pissed.

Lucifer stared at her. Castiel's grace twisted, shrinking behind him, confused and scared.

Eyes narrowed, Amara raised one hand. An invisible force surrounded him and began pulling him towards her, his shoes scraping against the ground in a weak attempt to resist. The Horn clattered out of his grip. When he was mere inches from her, the force vanished, though he could still feel something restricting his wings. He couldn't fly away.

"I think you and I need to have a nice, long chat," Amara murmured, cupping his face in her hands.

"Cas?" Dean called out, one last time.

Amara glanced over at him. Something like regret flickered in her eyes, much to Lucifer's bewilderment. She flourished a hand, and his hold on the Winchesters was dispelled. Lucifer gawked.

Then she fixed a glare on him again, and a flash of white engulfed them.

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

"So, Rowena and Crowley—Like mother, like son, huh?" Sam remarked. "They both took exactly one split second to take off when things started going south."

"Yep." Dean picked up a bottle of beer and sat down.

"By the way, wh-what's Rowena doing with Amara?"

"My guess? She's playing the odds. When sucking up to Lucifer didn't work out, maybe she thought Amara was the best bet. Then she heard Lucifer had a shot, so she switched horses again."

"I thought Lucifer had a shot," Sam admitted quietly. "Apparently, archangel plus God power doesn't trump God's sister."

"But if the thing has to be used by God's chosen," Dean said, "then maybe an archangel who got the boot doesn't qualify." Sam raised an eyebrow in consideration. "Either way, Horn's outta ammo, so..."

"So, back to square one."

"Yep."

A pause. "Listen, um..." Sam swallowed. "I know I came down on the side of wanting Cas to deal with Amara, so—"

"Well, that's what he wanted though, right?" Dean met his gaze, his expression blank. "Besides, didn't we say we were gonna swear off getting in the way when one person makes a choice the other doesn't agree with?"

Sam nodded a bit. "Yeah, um... yeah, we did say that."

"So..."

"Okay. So, that's our policy."

"Which sounds damn good." Dean took a swig of his drink. "Well, let's go find that idiot and bring him home."

* * *

~ _The abandoned factory_ ~

Lucifer slammed into the wall with a groan. Amara stared him down, one hand held out in his direction.

"Okay," Lucifer panted. He threw his arms up in a gesture of surrender. Time to negotiate. "Okay. Look, I know you have major beef with me. You probably want to finish me. But you may want to rethink your position. 'Cause I could actually be of use to you."

"Really?" Amara said, disbelieving.

"You hadn't considered?" He was thinking lightning quick now, knowing that one wrong word would get his grace eaten and his body destroyed. Castiel recoiled at the idea. "We both have an ax to grind with God. I know His soft spots. He can't handle us both."

"Do you, for one moment, think that I would actually consider trusting _you_? For anything?"

Lucifer only watched her, smiling.

"I did trust you, once," Amara admitted. "You and my brother conspired to seal me away for eons." She paused. "But you're right. You might be of some use to me."

"Alright," Lucifer said, taking a step forward and away from the wall. "Good. Now we're talking—"

A slight gesture from Amara, and then he was being tossed to the wall again, his head banging against the metal. He coughed.

"As God's favorite, His first son, you may be the one thing in all of creation that He still cares about. The one thing that could finally make Him show Himself so that I can confront Him, and He can acknowledge the wrongs He's done me." Amara drew close, close enough for Lucifer to see the threat of tears in her eyes. "And then, He can witness the utter destruction of all His creation... before He Himself is swept away."

"You're expecting him? Oh." Lucifer knew she was probably messed up from being locked away, but this was downright delusion. Everyone knew that God didn't love Lucifer, not anymore. And He sure as hell wouldn't show up for His failure of a son, no matter what Amara did to him. "Well... I wouldn't wait up. I'm pretty sure He caught the last train out."

"Well,"Amara said. "We'll see, won't we?" She flung out her hand. White light engulfed him, burning his grace with her raw fury and power, incinerating him from the inside out.

Lucifer tipped back his head and screamed.


	14. 11x22 - We Happy Few

~ _The Bunker_ ~

"So, where were you?"

Lucifer spoke with the utmost calm, but each accusatory word dripped with venom. He slowly paged through a book he found in the library, refusing to give his father the satisfaction of having his full attention.

A few feet away, God watched him carefully, his arms crossed. "That's a... a long story. How do you feel? I healed you."

"Mm, yeah, didn't ask you to," Lucifer muttered. He kept his eyes trained on the book, though he really didn't know why he was reading it. Inconsequential things written by inconsequential people.

"Son, be reasonable."

Reasonable? Oh, now there's a joke. Lucifer sat down on the steps and turned a page. "One cosmic band-aid on my knee, and what, you think that we're—we're even now?" He looked up at God for the first time, his expression twisted in mockery. "Is it time for us to go play catch in the yard?"

God sighed.

"Screw you," Lucifer finished. He turned back to the book.

Just then, the bunker doors swung open, and the Winchesters returned.

"Hey, how's it going in here?" Sam called down.

Both celestial beings ignored him. The Winchesters set their things down on the table and stopped to watch the conversation.

"Listen, I know I've been gone for a while," God said quietly. "I missed a few million birthdays."

"Yeah, and then the second your apes send a distress flare—Boom!—Daddy's home." Lucifer tried to sound as flippant as possible, but he couldn't help but feel that God really did care more about his precious humans than his own son. Apparently, your child being tortured by a cosmic entity of destruction doesn't count as a reason to come home.

"No, that's not what happened," God defended.

"Hey, these apes saved your ass," Dean interjected, eyes narrowed.

Lucifer fixed him with a glare. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, ready to blow Dean into oblivion, but nothing happened. Both Winchesters flinched at the action.

"He can't hurt you," God explained to them.

"Oh, so you're _controlling_ me now," Lucifer snapped.

"No, it's just a safeguard." God smiled a bit, like he was talking to a dull five-year-old. Lucifer's glare intensified.

"Hey guys, um, Chuck... Lucifer, Dean," Sam said, noting the rising tension between them. Dean seemed offended at being grouped in with Lucifer and God. "Think we can try and focus here, you know? End of the world, common enemy, all that."

Lucifer closed the book with a _snap_. He rose to his feet. "Enemy of my enemy is my friend." He stepped onto level ground, and found that, much to his delight, Castiel's vessel was a good deal taller than God's. "Go Amara. Team Amara."

"You don't mean that."

They were mere inches apart now. If Lucifer was talking to anyone less powerful than God, he could reach out and strangle him, power or no power. But he didn't. He only stared down at his father, waiting for the words he knew he was foolish to hope for.

"You're really not gonna say it," Lucifer whispered.

God lifted his chin and met Lucifer's stare with one of his own. Fury welled up inside Lucifer. If God wasn't tampering with his grace, every light bulb in this bunker would have exploded by now.

"He's not gonna say what?" Sam asked, confused.

"Screw you," Lucifer hissed. He stepped away from his father, turned to the Winchesters, and snapped, "screw all of you." And with that, he stormed past everyone he hated the most and vanished in the labyrinth of bunker hallways.

The brothers watched him go. Chuck let out a long sigh.

"Kids, huh?" he remarked.

* * *

"Lucifer!"

The steady, ridiculously loud beat of rock music drowned out Sam's voice, filling the bunker with noise. The Winchesters stood in front of Sam's door, banging on the wood as hard as they could to make themselves heard.

"You know, at some point in time, you're gonna have to come out and—and talk to... God!" Sam yelled.

"This is like the worst episode of 'Full House' ever," Dean commented.

Suddenly, the music cut off. The brothers leaned close to listen.

" _If Dad has something to say to me, I'll hear it from him_!" Lucifer shouted, sounding very much like a petulant child. " _Until then, I'll be in my room_."

"It's not your room," Dean said.

"It's my room," Sam said.

The rock music started back up again, somehow even louder than before.

Dean knocked one last time before giving up. "Whatever."

* * *

~ _Hell_ ~

"We can do this. Lucifer stole the throne. His authority weakens the longer he's M.I.A. The time is ripe for a coup. That's why I brought you here. Together, we can reclaim the throne. Together, we can make Hell great again."

Crowley held out his arms, waiting for the applause, the cheers, whatever. He'd spent too long cooped up in those kennels. Time to reinstate his strong leadership. Hell sure as hell needed it.

But instead of enthusiasm, he was met with chuckling and shaking shoulders. Were his demons... laughing at him?

He decided to continue. "Of course, I'll need your help recruiting others. When the numbers are in our favor, we'll strike, and each and every one of you will have earned a place at my side." A good deal, a tempting deal.

The demons at the table dissolved into quiet laughter once more, bowing their heads to hide their grins.

"Told you he'd do this," one demon said to the others.

"'He'?" Crowley questioned. "Do what?"

"What you always do," the demon replied. "Promise a return to Hell's former glory—promises you _never_ make good on. How about a rundown of your recent rule? First, you were Rowena's bitch."

"Then Dean Winchester's," another chimed in.

"Then Amara's," the first demon continued, "then Lucifer's. A few weeks ago, you were cleaning these floors... with your tongue."

The group laughed amongst themselves. Crowley looked away. Then the demons rose to their feet, abandoning their paperwork as another mess for Crowley to clean up. They ambled out of the throne room, still chuckling and shaking their heads at him.

"We could retake Hell, but why bother?" the first demon said, getting to his feet. "The world's ending, and this time... Hell's ending with it." He paused before exiting to glance back at Crowley. "Unless you've got a plan to defeat the Darkness."

Crowley tightened his jaw.

"Well, then this is just more of the same." The demon swept into a comedic bow, arms flourished grandly to match his insulting tone. "King Crowley's bad dinner theater."

"If that's the way you feel, why did you show?" Crowley asked, still clinging to the belief that his demons still respected him, even a little.

"We wanted to watch the monkey dance..." The demon flashed his teeth in a way that was more of a snarl than a grin. "... one last time."

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

"Talk to him," Sam urged.

"Won't do any good," Chuck replied. He was spooning pancake batter onto a pan while the Winchesters sat at the kitchen counter behind him.

"Why not?"

"'Cause I can't give him what he wants."

"And what's that?" Dean asked.

"What everyone wants—my sister, my children, you humans—an apology. A big, wet, 'I'm sorry'."

"So give it to him," Dean said. "It's not like he's asking for a weapon or for Hell, or for Heaven. He's asking for words."

Chuck turned around to face them. "I can't say I'm sorry if I'm not." He set two plates of pancakes in front of them. "What he wants an apology for, I did it for humanity. For the world." Seeing their incredulous looks, he raised a mug of coffee to his lips and said, "look, Lucifer wants what everybody wants—Amara gone. Okay? Let's just... give him a little time to cool off."

"Okay, well, I don't know if you've noticed," Dean said, "but a little time is not something we have. The end is freakin' nigh."

* * *

~ _Grand Isle, Louisiana_ ~

In the middle of a swamp, a small, scrappy cabin was nestled in the trees. A pile of firewood was piled outside, along with a murky lake nearby. The damp scent of petrichor permeated the air. Smoke drifted upwards from the chimney.

Inside, a witch sat at her table, flipping through tarot cards. Every candle was lit, and her body was adorned in all sorts of protection. Long beads and other enchanted jewelry was looped around her neck. Her wrists boasted thick pearls and bracelets.

As she mused over the cards, a presence drifted somewhere above her. Sharp eyes peered down at her, searching for something. She looked up.

"Rowena," she called. The presence shrank away. "Door not locked."

The door clicked and swung open. Rowena stepped inside with all the dignity in the world, spine straight and lips pursed. Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders in curls, her eyes lined with dark kohl. A sleek blue dress hugged her slim frame, sparkling in the candlelight.

"What all that astral projection bull for?" the witch at the table questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"We're hardly on the best terms, Clea," Rowena replied. Her crisp Scottish accent contrasted sharply with Clea's. "Before barging in, I just wanted to check for hex bags or a—" Clea pulled a long rifle out from under the table and aimed it at Rowena. "—that," Rowena finished, lip curling in distaste.

"What you want?" Clea asked.

"I'm working on a spell. It required a second."

The hand clutching the gun never wavered. Clea dipped her head, chuckling dryly. "A second? Well, why don't you ask Charisse? Or Melodie, or Thomasin? Oh yeah, you torched them all, in one of your impetuous little fits."

"The world's ending, Clea," Rowena said.

"Well, duh." Clea gestured at her tarot cards, lined out on the table. All showed death. She tucked her gun away and watched as Rowena took a seat at her table. "The end times shouldn't bother you though, Ro. You a rat. Find your way off any sinking ship."

Rowena smirked. "Damn right. The spell I'm working on is Book of the Damned magic, and it can get us back. We can buy ourselves a few more centuries of life. Turn back the clock for us... before the world inevitably goes bye-bye."

Frowning, Clea noted, "you're scared."

"Aye," Rowena admitted begrudgingly. Her tone became grave. "I came face-to-face with the Darkness. The apocalypse bell's been rung a few times in our day, but when I looked inside her, I saw it. Not just the end of the world, Heaven and Hell—the end of magic."

There was a moment of consideration, then Clea said, "Greek antiquity, or no deal."

"Middle ages," Rowena countered. "I know, not the best time to be a witch."

"Or a black woman."

"And the Greek age was better?"

"I'm a fan of the classics. I'll make it work."

"Deal."

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

To say that Lucifer was less than pleased with this arrangement would be a gross understatement. The Winchesters had somehow coaxed him out of Sam's room and into another area he couldn't be bothered to know the name of. He sat down in one of the chairs, across from God.

"One of you is gonna have to, uh, go first," Sam told them. "You know what? Uh, Lucifer, y-you, uh... you agreed to have a sit-down if—if God would show, so..."

"And, Chuck, you did say you'd talk," Dean added.

Silence. Lucifer quickly realized that his father wanted to do this about as much as Lucifer did. Which meant that Lucifer was going to have to start the conversation.

"Him first," he said, gesturing at God. He crossed one leg over the other. "I'm the one who's owed an explanation."

God only sighed heavily.

"Okay, let's—let's try 'I feel' statements," Dean suggested. At Sam's look, he explained quietly, "Dr. Phil."

The Winchesters retreated to the steps of the observatory, leaving them to talk it out.

Lucifer hated them dearly in that moment.

After a pause, God said slowly, "I am sorry... that you feel... that I betrayed you. That I acted without cause. I'm sorry that you can't see you gave me no choice." He glanced over at the brothers, who were shaking their heads and giving Lucifer wary looks. "I'm good."

Lucifer scowled. He, too, turned to the Winchesters. "You heard that, right?"

"W-We all know that you are God," Sam started cautiously, "um, but.. maybe could you be a little less... lordly?"

God blinked. "But I am—I'm the Lord."

Throwing his hands up, Lucifer muttered, "wow. There he goes."

"I did what I had to do!" God exclaimed. "To create the world, I had to lock Amara away. And when the Mark corrupted you, and I saw that you posed a threat to humankind, I did the same with you."

"No, you betrayed me," Lucifer snapped. "You gave me the Mark to lock her away, and when it changed me, when it did what the Mark _inevitably_ does—you threw me away."

"No, son. The Mark—" God stopped and rephrased. "You always cast a jaundiced glance at humans. The Mark didn't change you. It just made you more of what you already were."

The nerve. The sheer audacity. To insinuate that Lucifer was a jealous, conniving, monster before he was given the Mark? That was too far.

"What I _was_ was your son," Lucifer spat, "your _child_ _._ "

"Why should I put you first above all others?"

Lucifer leaned back in his seat. His smile was anything but amused. "Do you have any idea what it's like to argue with your father when your father is God?" If he didn't know any better, he would think that the Winchesters were almost... sympathetic? No. He turned back to God. "Everything is a tautology with you. Everything is 'Because I told you so.' Everything is 'It _had_ to be done.'"

"Pretty sure that's all fathers," Dean muttered. Sam elbowed him.

"Okay. Fine." Lucifer shifted in his seat. "Big picture, as God, you did what you had to do. But little picture?" His lips twisted into a sneer. "You _sucked_ at being a dad."

"Maybe I didn't handle everything perfectly," God ceded, nodding a bit. "But tell me... could I have kept humankind safe with you on the board? I know about your little bid to replace me with the angels. Okay, 'New God' what would you have done about you?"

"That is not the point!" Lucifer snarled, nearly shouting now.

A pause. "I-I can't believe I'm actually about to say this," Sam said, rubbing his hands together. His next words came out like a question rather than a statement. "But, uh... Lucifer is right."

Both God and Lucifer turned to look at him, confused.

"A-All he wants is an apology, and you're too concerned about being right to give him one. But apologies aren't always about being right. Sometimes, they're just about apologizing."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "And the great thing about apologies is you don't have to mean 'em. You know, I-I lie and tell Sam I'm sorry all the time."

Sam shot him a look that screamed 'not helping'.

"Sorry," Dean said. He grinned. "See? That's—"

"Okay, enough from the peanut gallery." God waved his hand, and suddenly the Winchesters were gone, transported somewhere else in the bunker.

There was a long beat of silence before God spoke again.

"What? What would you have done?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Lucifer replied quietly. He didn't have it in him to be angry anymore. There was just... hurt. "You were my father and you forsook me."

God bowed his head and gathered himself. "I did."

Lucifer blinked in surprise.

"I was supposed to love all creation equally," God murmured. "I wasn't supposed to have favorites. But you... you were mine. I gave you the Mark because I loved you the most. Because I thought you were strong enough to bear it."

Lucifer almost apologized for being such a huge disappointment, but he held his tongue. He tried to _listen_ instead of dissect God's words for any hint of scorn. He tried to believe the sincerity instead of finding holes in God's apology.

"And when I saw that I was wrong..." God took in a shaky breath. His voice trembled. "When I watched _my_ choice devour my... most cherished son... I _hated_ myself. And so I punished you."

Lucifer waited, as always, for the final blow to land. Perhaps it would be a scoff of disdain, or an accusation.

It never came.

"And I am so sorry," God whispered.

Lucifer exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. His stiff posture relaxed. It was like heavy weights had been taken away from him after bearing them for so long.

It felt freeing.

When finally they walked out of the room, they walked together, side by side.

The Winchesters peered down at them from the balcony.

"Hey," Sam said.

"So, are we good?" Dean asked.

Lucifer glanced at his dad and smiled. They both nodded.

"So what now?" Sam asked.

"We trap Amara," God replied. "Put her back in the box."

Eyebrows furrowed, Dean said, "wait, what?"

"Well, you were right. She needs to be destroyed. But I won't kill her."

"Why not?"

"Amara's been caged for billions of years, but..." God trailed off. "You know, she was always there. She had to be there—yin and yang, uh, dark and light."

"English, Chuck," Dean said.

God sighed. He waved his hand, and then the Winchesters were on ground level. The brothers both stumbled in surprise, and Dean clutched his stomach.

"There's a harmony," God explained, "a balance in the universe. Light needs Dark, Dark needs Light. If you blow one of them up, then, I mean..."

"It wouldn't be a good thing," Lucifer finished.

"It'd be really not a good thing," God agreed. "Like, end of reality not good."

"Okay, so we gift-wrap Amara," Sam said. "I mean, we got the team back together, so—"

"Not quite. We're still a few members short of the original lineup."

"Yeah," Lucifer said. "First time, it took the combined strength of me and my brothers to weaken Amara before..." He bumped God's shoulder, and they shared a smile. "Daddy-o finished her off."

"Even then, it was close," God added. "No, with just the two of us, we'll lose."

"Okay, so what? We'll need more group therapy between you and the archangels if we wanna have a shot?" Dean asked.

"Well, Michael's in no condition to fight," God replied. Lucifer winced. "And it's outside of my power to bring Gabriel and Raphael back."

"But you restored Castiel," Sam said.

"Archangels are different. They're the stuff of primordial creation. Rebuilding them, it's—it's time we don't have."

"So what do you need to win?"

"What do you got?" God walked past them, thinking. "So, what do we bring to the table to make up for archangel power?"

"We could try to find more Hands of God," Sam said.

"A little redundant," God replied, holding up his hands.

"Well, what about Crowley?" Dean said. "Big demon power, former King of Hell. He was a player in his day."

Lucifer pulled out a seat and propped his legs up on the table. "We have the angels."

"Rowena," Sam suggested. "I mean, she's a snake, but she's a powerful witch. And she's got the Book of the Damned." Once everyone was in agreement about who they needed to talk to, Sam said, "getting these groups to enlist and then work together, it's not gonna be easy."

"Couldn't you just compel them?" Dean asked God.

"I invented free will for a reason," God replied, shaking his head.

"So we're tying our hands on principle?"

"No—You can't make an effective soldier by force. They have to choose this fight."

"But they're gonna want to know they're backing a winner."

Lucifer gestured to God. "So..."

Sam chuckled. "So..."

* * *

~ _Hell_ ~

"Stealing my moves, Dean?" Crowley called out to the empty throne room. He took a sip from his glass of probably very strong alcohol.

Dean stepped around the corner.

"Let me guess—you got Lucifer back in the fold. He snapped you here."

"No, it wasn't Lucifer," Dean replied. He snatched Crowley's drink away before he could take another swig. Frowning, Dean emptied the contents on the floor. "It's time to sober up. You smell like a dumpster outside the Liquor Barn."

"What's this? Concern for me?" Crowley scoffed. Too late, Winchester. "I appreciate your attempts at bro-mantic rekindling. But I think we both agree that ship has sailed."

"That's not what this is about."

Crowley peered up at him curiously.

"We need your help."

* * *

~ _Heaven_ ~

"And here I thought I had made real inroads with you guys," Lucifer remarked. He walked leisurely through the halls of Heaven, several angels with blades crowding behind him. He was sure they'd like to believe they had any power over him, so he let the illusion continue.

"You thought wrong, Serpent," one angel—Eremiel—snapped.

"Serpent?" Lucifer rolled his eyes. He still didn't know where that myth came from.

"We loathe you. We'll always loathe you."

"Welp..." Lucifer raised his arms then dropped them again, stopping as more angels poured into the hallway from ahead. "I came here to ask a good-faith favor of you folks, but as you are..." He held up his hands as the angels pointed their blades at him. "... clearly less than kindly disposed, perhaps you'll, uh, lend an ear to my very own Jiminy Cricket? Hm?"

Although leaving himself so vulnerable in front of the angels was something he hated to do, he knew that they were never going to listen to him. Cons of being the Devil.

Lucifer closed his eyes and retreated into his vessel. He found Castiel practically hiding behind him.

 _They hate me,_ Castiel protested.

 _They hate me too,_ Lucifer countered. _Help a brother out, wouldja?_

Reluctantly, Castiel's grace shifted in front of Lucifer's and took control. Cas let out a breath, wiggling his fingers, not used to having full possession of a vessel. He surveyed his siblings, taking note of their suspicious looks.

"Hello, brothers," he managed. "Sisters."

"Castiel?" one angel gasped, her eyes wide.

"It's me," he assured them.

"Do you think we see any daylight between you and the Adversary?" Eremiel demanded.

Castiel lowered his eyes. Lucifer tsked.

* * *

~ _Grand Isle, Louisiana_ ~

"We've got the owl feather and the yarrow root," Rowena said, organizing the items on the table.

"Check and check," Clea confirmed.

"A jaw of pig?"

"Check," Sam said.

Both witches whirled around to see him, spinning the bone in his hands.

"What are you doing here, giant?" Rowena hissed. "Give it!"

Sam smiled slightly. "Not 'til we've talked."

"You walked right into a powerful coven!" Rowena told him, drawing herself up like a bird of paradise fluffing its wings.

"Uh, takes three for a coven," Clea interjected.

"Witch's den," Rowena corrected through gritted teeth. "Without a weapon. I'll turn you into a moose. An actual moose."

"You can't," Sam replied.

"Read his aura," Clea said. "He under some potent protection. Never seen that before. Hear the man out."

"Well?" Rowena sneered.

"We need you." Unlike before, Sam was dead serious. "We're gonna play the God card."

Rowena dissolved into incredulous chuckles. "God's back," she scoffed. "You've tricked me before, Samuel. Why would I believe a word you say?"

"It would explain that aura of protection," Clea said. "Not no regular magic."

"Clea, dear, is this how it's going to be with us in Crete?" Clea rolled her eyes and Rowena spun back around to face Sam. "Even if God's back, why would I care? Hello, pagan here. I serve magic, not God. Sorry," she finished, sounding not sorry at all as she snatched the pig jaw out of his hands. "Not interested."

"I am." Clea's lip quirked upwards at Rowena's glare. "What? I can't serve both?" She picked out one of her many necklaces and held up a silver cross.

"No!" Rowena cried.

"Ro, you brought me a plan to escape. This here's an opportunity to fight and win."

"She's right," Sam said.

"Nobody's talking to you, big and tall," Rowena told him.

"I can enlist others," Clea offered. "Sister witches."

"You're mad. We don't stand a chance against Amara!"

"Rowena, honey?" Clea held up her stack of tarot cards, revealing the top one. The Sun. "There is a chance."

Back in Heaven, the angels stared challengingly at Castiel. Eremiel pointed to the ceiling.

"Let's hear it from Him."

"In good time," Cas said. "Do I have your support?"

"I can't even look at you, Castiel," Eremiel snapped. "You befouled yourself with the Deceiver."

Cas paused. He fixed his gaze on the ground. "You know, every second that I've spent subordinating myself to Lucifer—it's been a torment. It's destroying me, it's burning through my vessel. But I would do it all over again, because through me, he and God, they will defeat the Darkness. That's my role in this fight. It's God's fight. You can play a part in that fight too... if you join me."

Inside his head, Lucifer cheered him on. _Laying it a little thick with the holier-than-thou stuff, but overall pretty good. I'm not that bad though, am I?_

 _Of course not, I wouldn't want to harm that very large, very bloated, very fragile ego of yours._

 _Hey!_

Down in Hell, Crowley was busy lamenting his sorrows to an uninterested Dean Winchester.

"Game of thrones," Crowley said, "it's musical chairs. Still... I wanted it. To go out with the crown on my head!"

"And that's what you offered them?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. "A chance to stroke your ego? And you wonder why they said no. Well, we've got something better—a plan." He leaned back against the conference table. "Now, you can sit on the sidelines and watch the world die... or you can fight."

Crowley watched him, still not convinced but interested.

"You know, to be king again, maybe you need to remember how to be a soldier."

A pause. "What's the plan?"

A couple hours ago, at the bunker:

"We assemble our band of brothers," Sam said, "hit Amara with everything we've got. Then, when she's weak..."

"I finish her off," God supplied.

"So, a page from the original playbook. This time, with witches and demons subbing for archangels."

"Exactly," Lucifer said.

"I still don't like it," Dean spoke up. He had been pacing around the table for a good thirty minutes, only pausing to change direction. "But why trap her when you can kill her, you know? I-I mean, you gotta admit, there's a lot less room for error if you shoot to kill."

"I explained why," God said.

"Right, but why keep her in play? So she can escape and we can go through this all over again?"

"Dean, what is this about?" Sam asked.

"I—nothing!" Dean spluttered. "Am I the only one thinking rational here?"

"It's about her," Lucifer chimed in. He was reclined back in a chair, feet propped up on another chair, spinning some toy in his fingers. "Sam, it's about his girlfriend."

"Okay." Dean pinned him with a glare. "Shut up."

"I mean, think about it," Lucifer continued, instead of shutting up as Dean advised. "Dean Winchester meets the biggest evil in the universe, and he takes a pass? Come on. Now he wants Daddy to do what he couldn't."

"Is he right?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean.

"Oh, I'm not getting into it with _him_ ," Dean muttered. "Not gonna happen."

And Lucifer kept talking, despite Dean's warning glare quickly turning into a murderous one. "Hey, Dean. Come on, what's good for the goose is good for the gander. We opened up a vein for you two."

"I tried to kill her," Dean snapped. He remembered the blade shattering to pieces in his hands, breaking impossibly against Amara's skin. "And it didn't work."

There was a long stretch of silence. Lucifer turned back to the toy he was messing with. Seemed like everyone tried to kill Amara. The numbers kept on a climbin'.

"Maybe it didn't work because you didn't want it to work," God tried. Dean's eyes flicked to him. "Maybe you didn't want to kill her."

"You want God to kill Amara," Sam said slowly, eyebrows pinched in confusion, "because you don't want Amara to be killed?"

"Maybe there's a part of me that just can't hurt her," Dean confessed quietly. "But if she's already dead—"

"—then she's already dead," Sam finished. "Right."

"Well, that got weird," Lucifer remarked, tapping his chin. Dean pushed away from the table, shoulders tense.

"Dean." Sam scoffed a little. "We always sweat this stuff, these choices. But for once, we have God on our side. I mean, for once, we can actually just do things his way."

At the head of the table, God flourished his hands.

* * *

Heaven-

"That's..." Eremiel trailed off.

"That's a very simple plan," another angel finished.

"Yes," Castiel agreed.

Earth-

"Simple," Rowena mused, "bordering on insane."

"Still in?" Sam asked.

Hell-

"It's suicide," Crowley said.

"Let's go," Dean replied.

* * *

~ _Donatello's House_ ~

Amara waved her hand. Donatello went flying with a shout of terror, slamming into the bookcase and collapsing to the floor. He coughed up blood. As he rolled onto his back, still coughing, Amara advanced on him, black dress swaying around her ankles.

"Please!" Donatello cried. "I don't know anything. I've only been a prophet for three days!"

"But you know where he is," Amara said, her voice soft yet commanding. She sank into a kneel before him.

"I won't tell you."

"You won't have to." Then she reached out, cupping his face with both hands. Donatello's eyes went wide as he started choking, his whole body trembling with the force of it. Then a wispy strand of blue slipped from his mouth and into Amara's. His soul.

She devoured it; everything that made him human, everything a soul gives to a mind. Knowledge, morals, memories. She consumed it all.

Amara noted faintly that prophets tasted different than normal humans. Richer.

A smile curved her lips as the location rose to her mind.

"Kansas."

* * *

Now, breaking into the Men of Letters bunker was not the easiest thing Amara had done. It was filled with potent warding that actually made her take a step back to evaluate what she was dealing with. There were traces of Light everywhere, strengthening the human-drawn sigils. Traces of God everywhere. She shredded through His protection, meager compared to what she knew He was capable of.

She appeared atop a table. There was a map set into it, an angel tracker of sorts. There was no one in sight.

As she was glancing around, feeling for Dean's soul or her nephew's grace, she noticed a mug sitting on the table.

' **WORLD'S GREATEST DAD** ' it read.

It shattered against the wall, launched by her vicious kick. She was confident Lucifer would approve.

The bunker's halls were empty. She took off into one dimly lit corridor.

Even after all this, her brother was _just_ out of her reach.

It made her furious.

* * *

~ _An abandoned factory_ ~

"... I don't hold grudges," Crowley was saying when Rowena strolled inside. "Besides, that dog collar was a lovely touch, really made my eyes pop. Almost wore it here today."

"Oh, I'm glad you're such a good sport," Lucifer replied condescendingly. Unfortunately, Castiel's vessel was the same height as Crowley, so he had to actually look that scum in the eyes. When he saw Rowena step into view, his face broke into a winning smile. "Hey, red. Looking gorgeous as ever." Rowena pressed her lips together. "Hey, I think a little apology is in order."

"You think you're the first man to try and kill me?" Rowena said, smirking.

Crowley rolled his eyes. Lucifer winked.

"Hello, Fergus," Rowena said, spitting out his name with utter disdain.

"Mother," Crowley replied.

Then bright light illuminated the factory, blinding them for a moment, then faded to a faint gleam. God stood on top of a raised platform, looking down at them. Lucifer sighed. And people call _him_ dramatic.

"Hello, my children," God spoke.

Crowley regarded him, confused. He glanced to the Winchesters. "Him?"

"Rowena," God greeted. "Crowley. It's good to finally meet you in person."

"Sorry about, well, everything I've ever done in my life," Rowena said. She stepped forward, wringing her hands. "Really, y-you can't have been a fan."

"Oh, yeah," God agreed. "I've been quietly rooting against you both for some time now. Although, I can't deny—you're one of my guilty pleasures."

Rowena laughed bashfully. "Oh, God."

"Oh, _God_ _,_ " Crowley muttered in disgust.

"Alright, no flirting," Dean asserted. "And no fighting."

"Yeah, and no deals," Sam added. "No talks about who is owed what if we survive this."

Basically tag-teaming, Dean continued, "nobody likes each other. It doesn't matter."

"We only have the fight ahead."

A pause, and then God said, "Amara's looking for me. But I'm warded against her, for now. The second I drop the warding, she'll show. She'll be expecting a fight, and we'll give it to her. Shock and awe. Shock and awe." He gestured to the three supernatural beings standing in uncomfortable proximity to one another. "You have your troops in position?"

Rowena raised her hand like an eager schoolgirl. God coughed.

"Yes, Rowena?"

"Fabulous plan... God," she started, "but doesn't this strategy strike anyone as a wee bit un-strategic? Shouldn't we at least _try_ to catch her off guard?"

"Is that sequence set in stone?" Crowley asked. "Demon, angel, witch power? Seems to me that the first response should come from the most disposable force."

"Right," Lucifer agreed mockingly. "Good argument, doggie. Demons first it is!"

"The weakest should go first," Crowley said, ignoring the jab. "Naturally, that means the witches."

"Enough," Sam interrupted.

"After that, it's Lucifer's turn," God said, as if the bickering had never happened. "Physical attack, one-on-one."

"What about Cas?" Dean questioned.

Before God could reply, Lucifer said, "oh, don't worry. Your pet's safety is my _highest_ concern." It was not Dean's deadly glare that made him sober up, but Castiel's gentle yet firm reprimand about playing nice with the Winchesters. "Trust me, he's on board."

"Once she's been weakened," God continued, "I will take the Mark back from Amara and use it to seal her away. You ready?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Dean swiveled, looking between them. "Wait, what?"

"God and I talked about this," Sam told him quietly. "Someone needs to bear the Mark."

Lucifer frowned a bit, but didn't comment.

"Well, it should be me," Dean argued. "I-I've had it before. I'm damaged goods."

"Exactly," God said. "You've already been tainted. I can't transfer it to you. Sam volunteered."

Dean grabbed Sam's sleeve and dragged him off to the side, well out of earshot from the squabbling witch/demon/archangel. "First Cas is making kamikaze side plans, and now you? You couldn't've talked to me?"

"We did talk," Sam replied.

"And what happens when the Mark turns you psycho? Then what?"

"You... lock me up, where I can't hurt anyone. And you throw away the key."

"Sam, no."

"Dean, you told me you couldn't beat Amara, that it would have to be me. Well, this is it—me."

A few feet away, Lucifer was telling them, "I'm just saying, angels can hurt her. It's worked before."

"If you call giving Amara a mild case of the pukes working," Crowley shot back.

"We're trying to disorientate her as much as hurt her," Rowena said, taking no sides as usual. "You underestimate witchcraft, Fergus, always have."

"If anything," Crowley continued, ignoring his mother, "she's inoculated. Full-scale demon attack. That's our 'X' factor."

Lucifer dissolved into incredulous laughter. Rowena scoffed.

Back off to the side, Sam said, "we talked about this. It's time to do the smart thing."

"So what am I supposed to do, just sit by and watch?"

"No. We're both in this fight. You're leading this army."

"Oh, you mean babysitting the bad guys?" Dean snapped. Sam didn't refute him. His voice turned soft. "Okay, Sam. Okay. God's plan."

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

Amara knelt down in Dean's room and opened a chest by his bed. She rifled through the contents, careful to leave everything in perfect condition. One framed photo in particular caught her eye. She lifted it out of the chest.

A picture of what must have been a young Dean Winchester, with a smiling blonde hugging him. His mother, Mary Winchester. Dean looked happy. He didn't look happy now.

As she traced her fingers over Dean's smile, a suddenly presence in the doorway drew her attention. Then a smug voice with a distinct Scottish lilt reached her ears.

 _Hello, Amara._

"Hello, witch," Amara called out, unsettled by how quietly Rowena's astral form snuck up on her. "How did you find me?"

 _Been inside your head once before. Easy enough to find my way back. Take it you're still looking for God? Well, I'm with him right now._

Rowena snapped back into her body. She glanced up at God and smiled.

The door creaked as Rowena stepped outside. Looked like Fergus got his wish after all. Witches first.

She surveyed the empty lot warily. No Amara yet.

Then—

A powerful rush of darkness, an utter destructive presence so strong that Rowena fought to keep her footing. Amara appeared several feet away. Her voice was frosty.

"He's here."

"Yes," Rowena replied hurriedly. "Right inside." Both approached each other, Rowena on unsteady legs. She forced an expectant smile. "Our deal holds? Safe passage back in time? I went out on a limb for you—betrayed God, of all people."

"You didn't betray God," Amara said. "You betrayed me."

Rowena felt a sudden prodding in her mind. Amara's darkness combed easily through her recent memories, seeing God look down on her.

"I knew this was a trap the moment you called," Amara continued, smiling coldly. She began to slowly circle Rowena, like a bird of prey circles a mouse. "I didn't care. All I've ever wanted is a one-on-one with my brother. And you've just given it to me. The question is... how am I going to repay you?"

The words were anything but gratuitous. Rowena gathered her magic, flung out her hands, and shouted, " _attenuare_!"

Purple lightning exploded from her hands and slammed into Amara, crackling over her skin harmlessly. The lightning died away. Amara scoffed.

"That tickles," she commented, smirking. "Do you really think the power of one witch can hurt me?"

"I'm not just one witch." This time, when Rowena summoned her magic, she felt the tingle of four other witches behind her, driving their magic with hers and casting the spell together, supported in a way she'd never been before. " _Attenuare_!"

The supercharged weakening spell exploded from her fingertips, pulsing white-hot, fueled by the power of her sister witches. The purple lightning collided with Amara once more, causing her to stumble from the vicious blow.

"Enough," Amara growled. She raised her hand and hurled Rowena's magic back at her, sending her flying and crashing into the ground.

She felt the spell—with Amara's own power mixed in—flow through her and electrocute the witches on the other end, killing them instantly. She collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Though Amara's skin was scorched in some places, as she glowered down at Rowena, her glare had not lessened. "Points for trying," she sneered.

And then thunder crashed. Rowena breathed a sigh of relief.

In the dark sky, the clouds began to gather in a swirling vortex above them, a white glow lighting up the center. The angels were preparing to attack.

Amara stepped away from Rowena and held her arms out, head tipped to the sky. She grinned up at the sky.

The angels summoned the full might of the Holy Host and struck, launching down a powerful blast of pure divinity, their graces joined together with searing light. Rowena shielded her eyes.

As soon as it came, it vanished, and in its stead, roaring black funnels of smoke swooped down from above. The demons.

Amara knelt in the center of a smoking black crater, still reeling from the angel smiting, but she managed to stagger to her feet anyway. Every demon from Hell descended upon her, spinning around her in dizzying patterns. She swatted at them like a cornered cat batting away a fish. One lamppost shattered; then another.

The demons began to lift her off the ground, sneaking in hits when she was distracted, only further serving to piss her off. Amara lashed out at them, her darkness viciously clawing at them, but they were creatures of evil too, and they resisted her power better than most.

From inside the warehouse, Crowley opened the door. He looked up at his troops fighting Amara, and something like pride flashed in his eyes. He brandished his arms and fled his vessel in a mass of crimson smoke. Racing to join the legions of Hell, he landed the final blow, smacking into Amara so hard she slammed into a car and instantly shattered all the windows, crumpling the metal. She collapsed into the pavement.

Crowley was not stupid enough to think they had defeated her. He flew off with the rest of his army, knowing he would come back when she was gone, or he would die if she wasn't.

The factory doors crashed open. Amara stumbled inside, covered in all sorts of wounds—from demon-made cuts, to witch bruises, to angel burns. She lurched forward, gripping the railing for balance. Seeing them, her lips curled into a snarl. Dean took a step forward at the sight of her, but Sam held him back.

"Hello, brother," she forced out, panting heavily. "You cheated... again. But—"

Lucifer plunged his weapon into her back, the tip shoving through the other side. Amara let out a terrible gasp. Lucifer yanked the lance out, and Amara fell to her knees, groaning. He moved to finish her off.

"Ah!" God yelled, stopping Lucifer before he killed her. "Son."

There was a moment of tension when Lucifer almost didn't listen, the lance still poised to strike, but at God's desperate expression, Lucifer reluctantly backed off, obeying his father for the first time in millions of years. He lowered the weapon and stepped back.

"I'm sorry," God told Amara. "For this, for everything."

"An apology at last," Amara managed, shoulders heaving with exertion. She raised her stare to meet his. "What's 'sorry' to me? I spent millions of years crammed into that cage... alone... and afraid, wishing— _begging_ for death, because of you!"

Dean closed his eyes, pained. Sam looked sympathetic.

"And what was my crime, brother?" Amara cried.

"The world needed to be born!" God urged, trying to make her understand. He lowered himself to her level. "And you wouldn't let me! Amara, you gave me no choice."

"That's your story. Not mine. The real reason you banished me, why I couldn't be allowed to _exist_... you couldn't stand it." She glanced over at the Winchesters. "No, we were equals. We weren't great or powerful, because we stood only relation to each other. You think you made the archangels to bring light? No. You made them to create _lesser_ beings—"

At this, Lucifer frowned. He looked to his father as if waiting for him to refute it, to dispel the blasphemous claim.

"—to make you _large_ , to make you Lord," Amara continued. She staggered to her feet, now towering over God. "It was ego! You wanted to be _big_!"

God barely paused before admitting, "that's true." He, too, stood to his full height. "But it isn't the whole truth. There's a value, a glory in creation... that's greater and truer than my pride or my ego. Call it grace, call it being! Whatever it is, it didn't come from _my_ hands. It was there... waiting to be born. It just _is_ , and you and I just _were_ _._ Since you've been freed, I know that you've seen it." God glanced over at Dean. He nodded. "Felt it."

Amara followed his gaze. She looked at Dean for only a moment, then began to shake her head, eyebrows furrowed in incredulity. "It didn't have to be like this. I loved you, brother." She pressed her lips together and scoffed loudly. "Well... you've won again. Finish it." She tipped her head back, voice filled with exhaustion. "Kill me."

God's throat bobbed. He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

A low crackling noise reached their ears. Amara quickly looked down at the Mark on her collarbone. "No." It was glowing bright red. "No. No!"

Off to the side, Sam groaned and clutched his arm, where a faint outline of the Mark was beginning to burn into his skin.

"I'm so sorry," God told her.

"No!" Amara gasped, "not again!" She lashed out and wrapped her hands around God's neck, suffocating him with her darkness. "NOT _EVER_ AGAIN!" With her power, she lifted him into the air, fingers curled like claws.

Crying out, Lucifer lunged, lance held high, but Amara flicked her other wrist and he slammed into a nearby pillar, head smacking against the metal.

"Goodbye, nephew," she snarled.

Lucifer screamed, his eyes lighting up white as she ripped him from his vessel and banished him. Castiel slumped back, head lolling.

"Cas!" Dean cried. He moved for Amara, but she hurled him into a metal rack, uncaring of his wellbeing for the first time.

"I'd die a _million_ times, and _murder_ you a million more before going back there!" Amara shouted. The Mark faded from Sam's skin and returned to her. "Tell me... if you won't change, why should I?"

"Amara, no!" Dean pleaded.

Black swelled up from the ground, rising in smoky funnels as they surrounded God. Then one of them struck him, his skin glowing white where the darkness made contact. Another stabbed him, then another, and then there was darkness all around him, his light weakly trying to fend them off, but Amara's rage was too strong. A low ringing sound—like an angel's true voice—began to fill the space.

"Sorry, brother," Amara said. Her voice lacked any of the same sincerity as God's.

White light engulfed him as he tipped back his head and screamed, the noise joining with the sharply increasing ringing. On the floor, the Winchesters covered their eyes from the blinding light.

And then it all went dark.

God collapsed to the ground, where he lay still.

"Amara, what have you done?" Dean choked out. He stared at God's body.

"He's dead," Sam whispered. "God's dead."

"No," Amara said, spinning around to glare at them. Her numerous injuries were gone, healed by the outburst of divinity. "He's dying. My brother will dim... and fade away into nothing. But not until he sees what comes next. Not until he watches this world—everything he created, everything he loves—turn to _ash_."

Outside, Rowena sucked in a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering open. She slowly sat up, rolling the aches out of her shoulders. The scorched ground from the angel smiting smoked just a few feet away. She pushed herself to her feet, then raised her gaze to the crimson sky. She shielded her eyes from the dying sun.

Inside the factory, Amara's eyes seemed to glow with bitter triumph.

In a voice cold as ice, she said, "Welcome to the end."


	15. 12x23 - All Along the Watchtower

~ _North Cove, Washington_ ~

Castiel stood at the edge of a lake, overlooking the gorgeous scenery. He watched the sun slanting over the rippling waves, and great rolling hills filled up the horizon. It was truly ideal.

He turned around and headed back to the house; a small white thing with old blinds tucked cozily into the mountainside.

As he approached his destination, he could hear Kelly griping over the phone.

"God, please, I need help," she groaned.

" _I'm trying to help you, ma'am_ ," someone replied.

"Are you, Sven? Because if you ask me if I have a quarter-inch Allen wrench one— _one_ more time, I am going to come down there and burn your giant Viking junkyard of a store to the _ground!_ Do you understand?!"

Cas winced to himself. Not in a good mood, then.

Then Kelly huffed and tossed the phone to the side with a clatter.

"Kelly," Cas said quietly. "I told you I'd put this together. I'm very good at following instructions. And you need to rest."

"No, I don't."

"Kelly—"

"No, Cas, I don't," she interrupted. Nonetheless, she accepted his hand and pulled herself up. "I can't. I don't know how long until..." She swallowed, separating herself from him. "I don't know how long I have left and I... I'm never going to be able to teach him how to ride a bike or watch him get married..." Her voice trembled. "... or even look him in the eyes."

Before Cas could even think about saying anything, Kelly whirled around to face him, her voice breaking.

"But I can build him a stupid Swedish crib!" she cried. "I can do that."

"Kelly, I know how hard this is." Cas paused. She stared at him. "That's a lie. I have no idea how hard this is for you. But I promise you... I will do everything. I will give my life for your son. And I will raise him. And I will make him someone you will be proud of."

Kelly swallowed thickly and nodded, her eyes glimmering with tears. "I know," she whispers.

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

"Okay, let me just get this straight. So... we beat the Brits, we kicked their psycho, tea-swilling asses, and instead of popping champagne and headin' to Vegas, we get Lucifer."

By the end of his rant, Dean's voice had risen in pitch with incredulity, and a less-than-pleased smile stretched across his face.

"And you're sure it's him?" Mary said.

"Yeah, that's his old vessel too," Sam confirmed, looking down at the grainy photograph.

"How is that possible?"

"Crowley, I guess."

"And now _he's_ dead."

"Well, that's what Cas said," Dean put in. "But Crowley's a freakin' cockroach. I'll believe he's gone when I see the body and burn it."

"We don't need Crowley," Sam muttered, pulling out his phone. "We need Rowena. I mean, she's the one who can slam Lucifer back into the Cage."

"Great, so where is she?" Mary asked.

Somewhere, in an expensive penthouse, Rowena's phone dinged on the table. The place was covered in scorch marks and bloody streaks, and a burned husk of a person lay curled on the floor.

Lucifer picked up the phone and answered the call. "Oh, hey, Sammy."

On the other end of the line, Sam sucked in a breath and set Lucifer on speaker.

" _Oh, if you're looking for Rowena_ ," he chatted idly, " _she is presently indisposed. Which is a delicate way of saying I stomped on her face 'til the white meat showed, and then set her on fire, just in case_."

Sam and Dean closed their eyes, while Mary pressed her lips together.

" _Ah. Gingers. It was messy and... screamy, but it had to be done, Sam. I'm about to be a dad. Can't raise the little nipper from a jail cell now, can I? Speaking of... you know where your little pal Castiel is?"_

"Go to hell," Sam snarled.

" _Ooh, good one_ ," Lucifer drawled. " _Witty. I'll use that in the future. Alright, well, I'd love to chat with ya, but, why waste my time, right? It's not like you matter. I don't need to put on the old Sam suit anymore, do I?"_

"If you think we're just gonna let you walk-" Dean started.

" _Oh, hey, Dean!"_ Lucifer greeted cheerfully. "I _know you fellas are gonna try, you know, whatever. Whatever you're gonna try. But you can't kill me. You've never been able to kill me and with, uh, witch-bitch gone, you can't put me back in the Cage, so like I said... you don't matter. Buh-bye_."

And with that, he hung up.

Sam and Dean stared at the phone for a long moment, thinking over Lucifer's ominous words. And the worst part about it?

He was right.

They couldn't kill him. They never could. And since Lucifer was clearing out the competition, there was no one strong enough to stop him.

Which meant they needed to find Cas, and fast.

* * *

~ _North Cove, Washington_ ~

Castiel pulled up to the house with Kelly in the passenger seat.

"I'm just saying," Kelly panted, stepping around the truck. "The checkout guy looked at us like we were super weird."

"Ah, you'll get used to it."

"Okay, but... Cas, I mean, you went a little overboard."

"I disagree." Cas opened the back of the truck and yanked off the tarp. "I have read seventy-four books on child rearing, and there is one thing that they all agree on: everybody poops."

"Well, you're not wrong." Kelly chuckled before suddenly groaning and leaning against the truck, clutching her stomach. When Cas moved to help her, she waved him off. "I'm fine, I'm... I'm fine."

As Cas assisted her into the house, a tiny sliver of golden light separated from the metal where Kelly was leaning and arced into the sky.

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

"You know, Lucifer's right," Dean said, jogging up the steps to join his mom and brother. "We can't kill him and we can't slam his ass back in the Cage."

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly. "Okay. So maybe we play for time. Find Cas and Kelly, keep 'em moving. If Lucifer can't find them, he can't hurt them."

Mary lifted her gaze from the computer screen. "You think Castiel is gonna go along with that?"

"You think we'll give him a choice?" Dean countered.

"And the baby?" Mary asked after a moment.

"Hopefully, we can still siphon off its grace," Sam said. "If not, uh... we'll figure something else out."

"Yeah, we better," Dean muttered.

"Alright, then," Mary said. She scooped up her gun and rose to her feet. "Kind of always wanted to punch the Devil in the face. So, how do we find them?"

"Look, we know Kelly's gonna have that kid soon. Like, really soon. And according to the lore, whenever a nephilim is born, there are signs. Uh, storms, outbreaks of disease, plague of locusts..." Sam trailed off.

"Things get Biblical," Dean finished.

"Exactly. That much power into the world, whenever and wherever it happens, things get weird."

"So, we're looking for something... weird," Mary said.

Sam nodded.

"Story of our lives," Dean put in.

Back at the cottage, Castiel left Kelly to paint the room by herself. He stepped out the front door, glancing from side to side, when he caught sight of something several feet away.

A hovering, rippling streak of golden light sliced through the air, glowing and pulsing with otherworldly energy. Cas slowly revolved around it, staring at the strange crack in the universe. He reached out to touch it.

Golden light flashed around him.

Suddenly, he was standing on a ruined and ashy terrain, grey smoke curling up from the ground and massive spires of silvery rock jutting up from the ground. Great, rolling black hills filled up the horizon. The sky brewed with dark, threatening storm clouds, lightning crashing red instead of white. Corpses lay scattered around the land.

"Where...?" Cas whispered, turning in a circle. "How...?"

A low snarl behind him drew his attention.

A creature with massive fangs and slavering jaws advanced on him, ugly gnarled horns sprouting from its forehead. It was dressed in rags and had the general shape of a human, but it was quite obviously not. The monster lunged at Cas and sent him sprawling to the ground in shock. Before it could finish him off, a gunshot rang out, and the thing jolted, red fire burning under its skin and crackling with the orange glow of a demon death. It collapsed, dead.

Cas slowly sat up to look at his rescuer. Confusion welled up inside him as he saw a startlingly familiar face.

"You?"

Back inside the cottage, Kelly plugged the USB drive into the port. She opened up the web recorder. Once she saw her own face gazing up at her, she pressed 'record'.

"Hi, Jack," she said quietly, forcing as much enthusiasm as she could into her voice. "It's, uh... I'm your mom. I know you're gonna be okay. You are gonna be... amazing. You have an angel watching over you." A soft chuckle escaped her that turned into a sniffle. "God, I love you, Jack. I love you so much." A tear slipped down her cheek; one, then another. Her eyes burned. She laughed, but it was more like a sob. "Sorry. I love you." She brought her fingers to her lips, pressed a kiss to them, then touched the camera. She stopped the recording and unplugged the USB drive.

Painstakingly, she lurched to her feet, clutching her stomach, when she let out a groan of pain and leaned heavily on the table.

Outside, the rift pulsed and glowed bright gold.

Kelly inhaled shakily.

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

"Hey, listen to this," Dean said. "Two-headed calf was born in Lava Hot Springs, Idaho. That's weird."

"That _is_ weird," Mary agreed.

"Yeah, but not our kind of weird," Sam said. "Look, whatever this thing is, it's gonna be big and bad—"

"You rang?"

The trio whirled around to see Crowley lounging at the head of the table, annoyingly alive and cheerful.

"Hello, boys," he greeted.

Dean punched him so hard the chair toppled backwards and Crowley hit the floor. Then Dean grabbed a fistful of Crowley's collar and pressed the demon blade against his throat.

"Did you do it?" Dean snapped. "Did you let Lucifer out?!"

"I didn't 'let'—"

"Don't!"

"Moose, a little help here!" Crowley groaned as Dean pushed the blade harder.

"Dean," Sam said, "wait."

"Seriously?" Dean and Mary asked simultaneously.

"Look, just don't kill him. He worked the Cage spell with Rowena. Maybe he can help us."

Crowley smiled triumphantly up at Dean.

"And what if he can't?" Mary asked.

"Well, then we kill him."

Crowley's smug smile vanished. Reluctantly, Dean drew back, allowing Crowley to get to his feet. Crowley brushed himself off and adjusted his collar, righting the fallen chair.

"Cage spell," he muttered. "Thought you had mother for that."

"Rowena's dead," Dean said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," Sam said. "Lucifer."

"Funny," Crowley remarked. "I always thought I'd be the one to kill her."

"Crowley... why did you do it?" Sam asked. "Save Lucifer—What did you want?"

"I wanted to win. I perverted mother's spell, put Lucifer in a vessel of my own making because _I_ wanted to win. You have any idea how many people have made a play for my throne over the years? Lucifer, Abbadon, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Too damn many. I thought if I could put the Devil on a leash... my own personal nuke, no one would ever dare challenge me again.

"Yeah, that worked out great," Dean said.

"All ended with me narrowly escaping death by hiding in a rat."

"Wait," Mary said. "In an... actual rat?"

"Wasn't too bad, really," Crowley muttered. "Gave me time to think. You know, I've been focused for so long on keeping my job. Never realized I hate it. All those whining demons, the _endless_ moans of damned souls, the paperwork! I mean, who wants that?"

"You," Sam said.

"Once, maybe."

"So why are you here?"

"Well, whenever there's a world-ending crisis at hand, I know where to place my bets." Crowley smiled a bit. "It's on you, you big, beautiful, lumbering piles of flannel. So if you'll forgive my transgression, I'll make it worth your while."

"Which means?" Dean questioned.

"After we put Lucifer back in his Cage—together—I'll seal the gates of Hell. You'll never see another demon again, apart from, of course, yours truly."

"You would do that?" Mary asked in disbelief.

"Why not? They stab me in the back, I'll happily stab them in the front, the sides, and right up their little black-eyed asses. So, we have a deal?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

* * *

~ _North Cove, Washington_ ~

Kelly walked through the house, calling, "Cas?" Silence. "Cas? Castiel?" She was forced to stop several times, leaning heavily against the doorway and panting. She paused just outside of Jack's room, breathing deeply.

A hand touched her shoulder.

She gasped and whirled around, only to see Cas standing there, looking worried.

"Kelly," he said.

"Where were you?"

"I, um... Nowhere. Um, is everything okay?"

"No. The baby, it's... I think it's time." She groaned and doubled over. Lights began to flicker, electricity crackling in the walls around them. "Oh my God," she gasped out. "Oh, God."

Cas held her firmly by the forearms. "Everything's going to be fine."

* * *

~ _The Bunker_ ~

Silence hung over the Winchesters + Crowley as all but one of them worked on finding Castiel. Crowley just sipped his drink, watching them curiously. He set down his glass with a thud.

"Is this what you do when I'm not here?" he asked incredulously. "Type?"

"Yep," Dean said, not taking his eyes off of the screen.

"Wait a second," Sam spoke up. "I've got something. Okay, two hours ago, there was a massive power outage in the Pacific Northwest."

"Sounds like the right kind of weird," Mary said, leaning over to look at the article.

"Yeah. Wait. They tracked the outage to an address in North Cove, Washington, to a house currently being rented by one James Novak."

"That's Cas," Dean said. "Let's roll."

"It's about time," Crowley complained.

In one swift movement, Dean stabbed the demon knife through Crowley's hand and buried it in the table, causing Crowley to cry out in pain. Orange electricity crackled around the wound.

"You think we're gonna trust you out there after what you pulled?" Dean said, glaring down at him. "Hm? No. You stay here, you sit down, and you shut up."

The Winchesters slammed the bunker door behind them.

Crowley stared at the blood dripping down his hand in detached irritation.

* * *

~ _North Cove, Washington_ ~

Kelly sat upright, leaning against the head of the bed, breathing slowly in and out. She had her knees tucked up to her chest. A single lamp glowed gently on the end table. Castiel walked over and took a seat next to her, smiling comfortingly. Crickets chirped outside.

"You're alright," Cas assured her. "The pressure waves are still very far apart."

"'Pressure waves'?" Kelly questioned.

"It's what they—It's what they called contractions in my doula class." Cas bit his lip. "I-I took it online. First-time mothers, labor can be twelve to eighteen hours, sometimes longer. It... Although, given this is the child of Lucifer and a quasi-celestial being..."

"They didn't cover that online?"

"They did not."

The two shared a quiet laugh. Kelly squeezed his hand, and he pressed his lips together in a concerned echo of a smile in return. Then he rose to his feet, walking over to the window and pushing aside the curtains. He stared out at the slowly undulating rift.

"Cas," Kelly said softly. He glanced back at her. "Thank you. For everything."

A few hours later, Kelly's eyebrows were creased in pain and she was groaning hoarsely. Her pained grunts quickly faded into sporadic whimpers, with Cas holding her hand tightly.

"Kelly," Cas said.

"Tell me again," Kelly forced out between moans. "Tell me again what you saw."

"Right, I saw—I saw... I saw the future. I saw a world without pain or hunger or want. I saw the world that this child... that _your_ child... will create." Cas met Kelly's eyes; she nodded rapidly. "And it is a world without fear and without suffering and without hate. I saw paradise."

Kelly made a quiet noise somewhere between a sob and a sigh. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, trickling down her cheeks. The lamps flickered and crackled with electricity. Kelly sucked in a ragged breath.

Suddenly, Cas frowned at the sound of tires crunching over gravel outside. He quickly got to his feet and hurried down the stairs, angel blade in hand, freezing in place when he saw who was stepping through the front door.

"Dean," he said.

"Cas, is this place warded?" Sam asked without any sort of greeting.

"Yes, heavily," he replied.

"Heavy enough to stop Lucifer?" Dean said.

"Lucifer?"

"He could be right behind us," Mary explained.

"I don't—What are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass," Dean told him roughly.

"Look, you an Kelly just taking off was a stupid move," Sam put in. "But there's no way we're letting Lucifer get his hands on that kid." His voice turned assertive and borderline harsh. "It ain't happening."

"Sam's right, okay?" Dean said. "We'll work through our crap, we always do. But right now, we are here to get you, get Kelly, and get gone."

"She can't be moved," Cas replied. "She's having a—"

A low groan from Kelly upstairs cut him off.

"I'll check on her," Mary said. She stepped around Cas and rushed up the stairs.

"How much time do we have?" Cas asked the brothers.

"We don't know," Sam said.

"Hey, if he shows," Dean said, referring to Lucifer, "can you flame on again? Can you torch Lucifer like you did Dagon?"

"I don't know. No, that wasn't me, that was the child. And in case you haven't noticed, he's a little busy."

Dean doubled over, burying his face in his hands. "Son of a bitch."

"Here, Dean. Let me." Cas pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and healed the scrapes on his face. Dean clicked his heel against the ground with a tentative grin.

"Thanks."

"Alright, we should double-check the warding," Sam suggested.

"Wait," Cas tried, but Sam had already opened the front door.

Several yards away, the glowing rift pulsed, illuminating the night-shrouded area around it. Sam stopped in his tracks.

"Cas, what is that?"

"It's a tear in space and time," Cas answered reluctantly.

"Uh, and that means?" Dean prompted.

"It's a doorway to another world." Cas moved past Sam and approached the rift.

"Anoth—What, like Narnia?"

"No. No, through there it's Earth, but... but different. It's a—it's an alternate reality."

"So it's Bizarro world?" Sam tried. "Or—Or like the place we got zapped to where we were, uh, actors on a TV show."

"Oh, yeah, the supernatural wasn't real," Dean remembered. "And you were Polish."

"R-Right."

Cas stared at them for a long second.

Sam took a step forward. "Wait, Cas, how did this get here?"

"Well, the child being born, his power, it seems to be puncturing the fabric of our universe."

"Awesome," Dean said dryly.

"And what exactly is on the other side?" Sam asked.

"You don't wanna know," Cas told them seriously.

"Probably," Dean agreed. "But we need to."

Cas didn't argue. When they were all close enough, the rift cast golden light over their faces, distorting the air around it. Cas reached out, and a bright flash of light enveloped them.

Thunder crashed. The monstrous clouds bubbling in the sky turned the world a greyish hue, as if soaking up all the color and life. No wildlife remained. The ground was ashy and hard packed, covered with corpses in various stages of decay. Thick, wickedly sharp spires of rock protruded from the barren landscape.

"Woah," Sam whispered.

"Cas, what is this?" Dean asked, reverence touching his tone.

"As I said, it's—it's Earth." Cas moved forward, wincing at the devastation that lay before them. "But this Earth is locked in eternal war between Heaven and Hell. There are armies of angels fighting hordes of demons, and the few humans that remain are caught in between."

"How do you know that?" Sam questioned, frowning.

"A friend told me."

"Oh, good," Dean said. "Now you're making friends? That's... Alright, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is this?"

"I don't know," Sam muttered. "I gotta say, a hole in reality to a bombed out Apocalypse world? I'm gonna go with eleven."

"Sounds right."

"You don't have to worry," Cas said. "The child, he opened this door. He'll close it."

"You sure about that?" Dean asked.

"I have faith."

"Really? In your unborn baby-God?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, you're a dumbass."

Suddenly, from the hazy white smoke, a figure dressed in rags and coated in ash strode towards them. Sam pulled out his gun; Dean did the same.

"Hey! Hands in the air!" Dean shouted.

"No, don't," Cas said. He flung out a hand to stop Dean.

The figure came to a stop a few feet away. They reached up, untied the scarf around their head with grimy fingers, and tugged it to the side, revealing the worn and stern face of Bobby Singer.

"Bobby?" Sam gasped.

Both Winchester brothers lowered their guns. Bobby scowled at them.

"Do I know you?" he asked gruffly, eyes narrowed in distrust.

"Bobby..." Sam trailed off. "Sam. Dean. Cas."

"You say that like it's supposed to mean something to me, but... no."

"Sam, this is Bobby," Cas introduced. "But it's not your B—"

"Bobby," Dean said, ignoring Cas. "It's us. Sam and Dean Winchester."

"The only Winchester I ever heard of was John," Bobby said.

"Yeah, John Winchester, our father," Sam tried.

"Doubt it. He's dead. Been dead over forty years now. Only reason I know about him is this hunter I ran with, Mary Campbell. You get a few pints of shine into her and she always told the same story about the man she loved—John Winchester. Azazel killed her about ten years ago."

"Cas, what the hell is this?" Sam asked, turning to the angel.

"This is a world where you were never born," Cas explained. "It's a world you never saved."

Back in the house, Kelly groaned loudly and tightened her grip on Mary, face screwed up in pain. She stuttered out an exhale. Her eyes were red with tears, and her forehead was slick with sweat.

"Okay," Mary said. "I think they're less than five minutes apart now. It's almost time." Kelly nodded, sniffling, and laughed softly. "How you doin'?"

"I'm dying," Kelly whispered.

"I know."

"But that's okay." Kelly's voice broke as she sniffled, smiling kindly despite everything happening. "'Cause wouldn't you die for your sons?"

Mary smiled back, nodding, ignoring the way her eyes had begun to burn. "Yeah."

In the Apocalypse world, Bobby was saying, "when this... whatever opened up, all sorts'a alarms went off back at my place. I got here just in time to see your boy get ambushed by a tempter demon."

"A what?" Dean asked.

"It's, uh, black eyes, pointed teeth, horns," Cas explained.

"Wait a second, demons have horns now?" Sam said.

"Whole new world, Sam," Dean said.

"Usually I'd gun down flyboys on sight," Bobby continued, nodding at Cas, "but, uh, he looked... different. Wasn't wearing a necklace made out of baby ears, for one thing."

"We got to talking about where I came from and our two worlds," Cas added.

"From what he says, pretty much peaches and cream on your side."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Dean replied. "It's better than this."

"Well, I don't know. Ain't so bad here, if you like killing angels."

"And you do?" Sam asked, lifting one eyebrow.

Bobby's lips tugged into an amused smirk. "It's my hobby and my passion. So... I figured, it's only a matter of time before the dicks upstairs get wind'a this. And when they show... me and Rufus go to work." He held up his assault rifle. "He's loaded with a hundred rounds, cast from old angel blades."

"Wait, angel-killing bullets?" Dean said. He grinned. "Awesome."

Cas stared at him. He had the decency to look abashed.

* * *

Kelly let out a shrill scream, fingers wrapped around Mary's as her shoulders shook with the force of her crying. Mary gripped her hands.

"Okay," Mary murmured. "You're good."

Outside, the trio landed back in the sand, the rift fading back to its normal golden glow.

"Are you okay?" Cas asked them.

"No, Cas," Dean replied shortly. "Pretty far from alright. I mean, we've got Lucifer on this side, we've got Mad Max World on that side. Yeah, we've been down before, but this? I-I mean, I don't even know where to start." He turned around, took one step, and threw up his hands, shouting, "oh, come on!"

"Hello, boys," Crowley said casually. "Again."

"Wait a minute," Sam said, "how the hell did you—"

"I improvised." Crowley held up his bandaged hand. "Lucky I did. Turns out I'm the answer to all your problems."

Once inside the house, Cas knocked once on the doorframe. Mary looked up at him.

"May I speak with her?" he asked.

"Sure," Mary said. She started to draw away, but Kelly grabbed her hand.

"Mary," Kelly whispered.

"I'll be back."

"Okay." When Mary was gone, Kelly said, "Cas... What's wrong?"

Downstairs, Dean cocked his gun. "You ready?" he asked Sam.

"Nope. When has that ever stopped us?"

"Yeah. You know, Cas has faith in this kid. I hope he's right. But me? I have faith in us. You, me, Mom, Cas. And Crowley. Sometimes." Dean pressed his lips together. "This is gonna work. It has to."

Upstairs, Cas said, "don't worry. It will be fine." He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Remember—Paradise."

Kelly closed her eyes and nodded.

A few minutes later, the Winchesters and Castiel walked down the front steps, pausing a good distance away.

Lucifer was waiting for them. With his hands stuffed into his pockets, he watched them approach, unsmiling, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. "Well, this a fun surprise," he said.

An angel blade slipped into Castiel's hand. Lucifer eyed it with a sneer.

"I gotta hand it to you guys. You never give up, even when you should. Even when it would be so stupid not to."

"Look," Sam said, "whatever you're planning on doing, Chuck... God will stop you, just like He did last time."

"You're right. What should I do?" Lucifer hunched his shoulders and raised his eyes mockingly to the sky. "Oh God, don't strike me dead!" He let out a short laugh. "Come on, Sam. You sound like a virgin in Jesus camp. 'We can't, God is watching.' No. Chuck walked. He's gone."

"So you're just gonna smash His toys?" Dean questioned.

"Exactly. 'Cause every time I look at this sad trash fire of a world, you know what I keep thinking? I could do so much better."

"Apocalypse, take two. That's your plan?"

"When in doubt, go with the classics. That's what I always say." Lucifer's gaze shifted from Dean to Cas, who frowned a bit. "Well, boys, enough with the foreplay. Let's do this."

"See you on the other side, boys," Dean said.

Castiel raised his blade and lunged forward, but Lucifer flicked his wrist and sent Cas tumbling into the dirt with a groan.

"Well, that worked," Lucifer remarked.

The Winchesters exchanged a glance with each other, spun on their heels, and bolted.

"Mature," Lucifer muttered. "Real mature. You guys? I really want to enjoy this." He stalked around the back of the house, taking his sweet time, allowing himself to slow down and bask in the scenery. "Really wanna savor just rippin' ya apart, gettin' all up there, and gettin' all gooey. But, you know, little slugger's almost here and, uh. Well, I'm on the clock." He paused when he rounded the corner.

Sam and Dean were standing next to a vertical slit in the air, glowing with golden light and crackling with power. Lucifer frowned as they touched the rift and vanished.

"Interesting."

A quick hop through the rift landed Lucifer in a grey, ashy world, the dirt hard-packed under his feet and the sky choked with smoke. Thunder crashed above, shrouding the land briefly in flickering red light. Spires of thick silver metal jutted out from the ground. Lumpy piles that looked suspiciously like corpses were buried in ash and scattered around the terrain.

"You wanted the Apocalypse?" Sam said behind him. "You got it."

"Sammy," Lucifer greeted. "Hey. Where's your big bro?"

"Right here."

Lucifer turned around. Dean was gripping a large assault rifle, the shiny black barrel aimed directly at Lucifer.

"Ooh. Sweet toy," Lucifer commented.

"Yeah, I got it off an old—new pal of mine. See, we have this bet, see if it works against an archangel. So. Say hello to my little friend."

Sam threw himself to the side as Dean opened fire, dozens of small projectiles slamming into Lucifer's chest and shredding his new clothes. Lucifer jerked back from the force, but adjusted his footing and stood his ground, eyes narrowed at Dean.

Off to the side, Sam skidded to a halt and sank into a kneel beside Crowley, who was fiddling with ingredients.

"Took you long enough," Crowley muttered.

"Not now, Crowley. Come on."

When Dean finally stopped, Lucifer straightened. His eyes lit up fiery red. Dean's lips curled into a snarl as he yanked on the trigger again, until he ran out of bullets and was left clicking the gun uselessly.

"We do this ritual, we seal that rift, and we lock the Devil in this godforsaken place," Crowley said to Sam, going over the plan one last time. "That's the plan, remember? Two birds, one spell."

"Right, right. Just hurry." Sam scrambled to his feet, peeking over the sand dune at Dean and Lucifer.

"You lose," Lucifer drawled. He snatched up the gun and smacked Dean across the face with it, then grabbed him by the collar and hit him once, twice, three times, causing Dean to stagger back and collapse.

Sam ran back to Crowley. "Uh, dead sea brine, lambs blood, holy oil." He poured the holy oil into the bowl. "Here we go. That's the last of it. That's everything."

"No, it's not," Crowley murmured.

"What?"

"If we wanna heal that rip, we need one more minor ingredient."

"What?"

Crowley got to his feet. "A life."

Dean groaned as Lucifer kicked him again. He rolled to the side and spat out blood.

"Ah, I could do this all day," Lucifer commented. "You make such funny noises."

Suddenly, a force shoved him backwards and sent him sprawling into the dirt. Someone cleared their throat.

"Surprise," Crowley said.

Lucifer tipped back his head and laughed loudly. "Crowley!"

Sam sprinted into view and grabbed Dean by the arm, yanking him to his feet, then the brothers staggered away from Crowley and Lucifer.

"You sneaky little... So I guess I get to kill you twice, huh Crowley?" Lucifer said.

"I doubt it."

"Oh, no, you had your chance. You could've put me back in the Cage, but... you _had_ to make it personal, didn't you?"

Crowley shrugged in an almost bashful manner. He took a few steps forward. "You're right. It is personal. You humiliated me. I... I hate you. Deeply. Truly. I'm gonna enjoy wiping that smug, self-satisfied look off your face. Personally."

"You mean... this one?" Lucifer grinned broadly and tilted his head. An angel blade slid into Crowley's bandaged hand. "Come on, Crowley. You know whatever you try, you're gonna lose."

"You're right," Crowley said again. He pressed his lips together in the faintest echo of a smile. He glanced back at the Winchesters. "Bye, boys."

He lifted the blade. Then he stabbed himself in the chest, sinking the blade in down to the hilt. Reddish white fire sparked in his eyes and under his skin, burning him out, mouth ajar in a wordless scream as his very essence was destroyed by the Enochian metal.

The rift pulsed and crackled when Crowley's body hit the ground. Lucifer frowned in confusion.

Suddenly, Castiel leaped through the rift and landed between the Winchesters, blade hefted and eyes narrowed with intent. He stormed towards Lucifer, despite the Winchesters shouting at him to stop.

Sam pulled Dean back through the rift.

In the house, Kelly trembled violently, her screams muffled by her gritted teeth. Mary held her hands still. Then, a ripple of yellow light snaked up her cheek and sank into her skin, her eyes lighting up golden as a small smile found its way onto her face.

"I love you," she whispered.

Back in the Apocalypse world, Castiel sank his blade into Lucifer's chest. Lucifer jolted from the impact, his eyes glowing red. Cas fled through the rift and landed facing the Winchesters. The three allowed themselves the barest of smiles.

"Cas," Sam breathed in relief.

The rift flashed golden. Cas stiffened, letting out a terrible gasp as his eyes and mouth flared white, the tip of the angel blade poking through his ribs. A great pulse of white light blinded the Winchesters before it all went dark and Cas collapsed, dead.

"NO!" Dean screamed.

Lucifer yanked the blade out, sighing. "That was fun. Seriously, guys, points for trying. Super impressed, but, uh... playtime's over."

Just then, Mary Winchester walked down the steps and stood between her sons. "Get away from them," she told Lucifer.

"Mary, right? Yeah, I've heard about you. You, uh, are certainly living up to the hype." Lucifer growled playfully with a laugh. Mary scowled. "Look, seriously, I just wanted to say thank you for everything. I owe ya, kid."

Mary stepped forward.

"Mom, Mom, Mom," Sam said quickly, putting a hand out to stop her.

"I love you," she told them. Then she drew back her fist and punched Lucifer across the face. He stumbled. Turning back around, he clicked his tongue.

"Cute. Is that all you got, mama?"

Mary hit him again, and again, causing him to drop the angel blade, light sparking under his skin wherever the blows landed. Enchanted brass knuckles enhanced her strength. Lucifer staggered back towards the rift. Mary hit him one last time, and his hand flung out, snagging her sleeve, yanking both of them back through the rift just as it pulsed and snapped closed.

"Mom, no!" Dean shouted. Both Winchesters lunged forward, but the crack in the universe was sealed up.

On the other side, Mary tumbled to the ground. Lucifer scrambled to his feet, crying, "no, _no!_ No!" Panting heavily, he glared down at Mary, his eyes lighting up crimson.

Back at the house, Dean stared at the empty air with one hand outstretched, eyes wide. "No, no, no, no..." Sam raised his gaze to the sky, shaking his head. Suddenly, a faint buzzing from the house behind them drew Sam's attention. The windows were filled with flickering light.

Sam stumbled back a step, then turned and sprinted into the house.

Dean slowly sank to his knees before Castiel's body. He looked up at the night sky, slumping back on his heels.

Inside the house, Sam stopped in the doorway. Kelly was lying in bed, utterly still, hands clasped over her chest and eyes open but unseeing. He knew without checking her pulse that she was gone. He gently closed her eyes.

Something clattered in the distance. He stiffened. Stepping into the hall, which he saw bloody footprints on the wood leading to the baby room. He hesitantly followed them. A strange, high-pitched ringing noise swayed and trembled in the air. Sam's gaze landed on the corner and he let out a small gasp.

Crouched in the corner, shrouded in darkness and curled in a protective stance, Lucifer's son slowly lifted his head, letting a sliver of moonlight cut across his face.

His eyes burned golden.


End file.
